ENGLISH 


READING5'FOR 


"  The  virtue 
of  books  is  the 
perfecting  of 
reason,  which  is 
indeed  the  hap- 
piness of  man. 

Richard    De 

^ury. 


€m\i6l)  i^eabingg  for  ^cfjoolfi 

GENERAL  EDITOR 

WILBUR  LUCIUS  CROSS 

PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH  IN  YALE  UNIVERSITY 


^ 


vf 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
From  a  photograph  by  James  Notman 


STEVENSON'S 
INLAND     VO Y A  G  E 

AND 

TRAVELS    WITH    A    DONKEY 

EDITED    BY 

EDWIN    MIMS 

PROFESSOR  OF   ENGLISH   IN    THE   UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 


Copyright,  191  i, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


THE   QUINN    &    BODEN    CO.  PRESS 
RAHWAY,    N.    J. 


CONTENTS 

Introduction  page 

I.  Stevenson''s   Life    and   Works vii 

II.  An  Inland  Voyage  and  Travels  with  a  Donkey     .  xxi 

Descriptive   Bibliography xxvii 

An  Inland  Voyage  (with  original  preface  and  dedication)  i 

Travels  with  a  Donkey  (with  original  preface)        .        .  131 

Notes  and  Comment  (with  questions) 265 

Portrait  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson   ....       frontispiece 

Portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Grindlay  Simpson       ....  2 

The    Willebroek    Canal 7 

Our  Lady  of  the  Snows 137 

Map  of  Belgium  (An  Inland  Voyage) 264 

Map  of  Southern  France  (Travels  with  a  Donkey)      .        .  280 


INTRODUCTION 


STEVENSON'S  LIFE  AND  WORKS 

In  the  lives  of  few  men  is  the  study  of  ancestral  influ- 
ences so  important  as  in  that  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
who  was  born  in  Edinburgh,  November  13,  1850.  In  his 
last  days  in  the  South  Sea  islands  he  wrote:  "The  ascend- 
ant hand  is  what  I  feel  most  strongly ;  I  am  bound  in  and 
in  with  my  forbears  .  .  .  I  see  like  a  vision  the  youth 
of  my  father  and  of  his  father,  and  the  whole  stream  of 
lives  flowing  down  there  far  in  the  north,  with  the  sound 
of  laughter  and  tears,  to  cast  me  out  in  the  end  on  these 
ultimate  islands."  At  the  time  he  wrote  these  words  he 
was  preparing  the  volume  which  he  left  unfinished  at  his 
death,  A  Family  of  Engineers,  in  which  he  made  a  special 
study  of  his  father's  family  and  more  particularly  of  his 
grandfather,  Robert  Stevenson,  whose  story  of  the  build- 
ing of  the  Bell  Rock  Lighthouse  has  been  called  "  the 
Romance  of  Lime  and  Stone  by  the  Robinson  Crusoe  of 
Civil  Engineering."  The  spirit  of  adventure,  the  love  of 
the  sea,  and  the  resourceful  industry  of  Robert  Stevenson 
were  inherited  by  his  son,  Thomas  Stevenson,  through 
whose  efforts  at  the  building  of  lighthouses  and  in  the 
perfection  of  the  revolving  lens  "  a  safer  landfall  awaits 
the  mariner  in  all  parts  of  the  world."  Thomas,  a  sketch 
of  whom  is  contained  in  his  son's  Memories  and  Por- 

vii 


viii  Introduction 

traits,  was  a  singularly  interesting  personality,  "  command- 
ing a  gift  of  humorous  and  figurative  speech  second  only  to 
that  of  his  more  famous  son."  His  character  was  a  for- 
tunate influence  in  his  son's  life;  he  furnished  him  with 
incidents  for  stories,  offered  him  criticisms  of  his  writings, 
and  provided  him  with  money  that  enabled  him  to  pursue 
a  literary  career. 

Scarcely  less  significant  was  the  influence  of  his  mother 
(Isabella  Balfour)  and  her  family;  for  Stevenson  was 
also  the  "  grandson  of  the  manse."  In  his  complex  nature 
there  was  something  of  the  Shorter  Catechist.  He  cher- 
ished the  belief  that  the  blood  of  the  Covenanters  flowed 
in  his  veins.  His  mother's  father  was  Rev.  Lewis  Balfour, 
a  portrait  of  whom  may  be  found  in  Memories  and  Por- 
traits: "  He  moves  in  my  blood,  and  whispers  w^ords  to  me, 
and  sits  efficient  in  the  very  knot  and  center  of  my  being." 
Hence  came  that  other  characteristic  strain  in  Stevenson's 
life,  that  of  the  preacher,  who  appears  so  often  in  his 
essays  and  letters.  From  his  mother,  too,  came  his  in- 
herent optimism,  a  resolute  refusal  to  see  the  unpleasant 
V  side  of  things,  and  "  that  readiness  for  enjoyment  which 
makes  light  of  discomfort."  Her  vivacity  and  brightness 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  innate  severity  and  even  mel- 
5^   ancholy  of  the  Stevensons. 

.^        From   his   mother    Stevenson    inherited   a   frail   consti- 

Ni    tution;  he  breathed  from  infancy  the  atmosphere  of  the 

l^)  N^ickroom.    And  his  boyhood  he  described  as  one  "  full  of 

^  lever,  nightmare,  insomnia,  painful  days,  and  interminable 

'^  nights."      There   are    few   more   pathetic   passages   about 

,   ^  childhood  than  his  poem  "The  Sick  Child  "  in  the  Child's 

vl  Garden  of  Verses.     And  yet  his  natural  spirit  of  adven- 

/  ture,  combined  with  the  optimism  of  his  mother,  enabled 

him  to  escape  into  a  world  of  imagination.     His  faithful 

nurse,  Alison  Cunningham  (always  spoken  of  as  "Cum- 


Introduction  ix 

mie"),  read  to  him  from  the  Bible,  taught  him  the  Shorter 
Catechism,  told  him  stories  of  the  Covenanters,  and  initi- 
ated him  into  the  love  of  beautiful  sounds  by  reciting  the 
old  Scotch  hymns,  "  gloating  on  the  rhythm,  dwelling  with 
delight  on  assonances  and  alliterations."  From  the  severity 
of  this  "  Covenanting  childhood  "  the  imaginative  boy  had 
various  ways  of  escape.  At  Colinton  Manse,  where  his 
grandfather  Balfour  lived,  he  reveled  in  the  gardens  and 
in  the  exciting  stories  found  in  the  otherwise  serious  li- 
brary ;  at  night,  while  others  were  drawn  around  the  fire- 
side, the  boy  would  make  for  himself  a  corner  over  behind 
the  sofa,  where  he  would  play  at  Indians  and  rehearse 
the  stories  of  Scott.  In  his  Edinburgh  home  he  had  toy- 
theaters,  the  figures  of  which  were  supplied  at  a  book- 
store near  by  his  home.  He  edited  magazines,  the  char- 
acteristic name  of  one  of  which  was  The  Sunbeam. 
Later,  as  he  grew  more  vigorous,  he  engaged  in  the  more 
robust  sports  of  horseback-riding  and  skating.  He  became 
one  of  the  lantern-bearers — a  group  of  boys  who  wandered 
about  the  streets  at  night,  "  each  with  a  bull's-eye  lantern 
buckled  to  the  waist  upon  a  cricket  belt  and  over  them  a 
buttoned  top-coat." 

Is  not  the  future  romancer  suggested  in  this  summary 
of  the  dreams  of  childhood? — "I  listened  for  news  of  the 
great  world  upon  whose  edge  I  stood.  I  listened  for 
delightful  plots  that  I  might  re-enact  in  play,  and  ro- 
mantic scenes  and  circumstances  that  I  might  call  up 
before  me,  with  closed  eyes,  when  I  was  tired  of  Scotland 
and  home  and  that  weary  prison  of  the  sick-chamber  in 
which  I  lay  so  long  in  durance."  In  answer  to  a  criticism 
as  to  the  reality  of  Treasure  Island,  he  once  said,  doubt- 
less having  in  mind  his  own  childhood,  "  There  never  was 
a  child  but  has  hunted  gold  and  been  a  pirate,  and  a 
military  commander,  and  a  bandit  of  the  mountains,  but 


X  Introduction 

has  fought,  and  suffered  shipwreck  and  prison,  and  im- 
brued its  little  hands  in  gore,  and  gallantly  retrieved 
the  lost  battle,  and  triumphantly  protected  innocence  and 
beauty." 

Emphasis  is  laid  upon  such  passages  and  incidents  rather 
than  upon  any  formal  education,  for  Stevenson  never  owed 
much  to  private  tutors  and  private  schools.  He  owed 
more  to  his  travels  in  Germany  (1862),  Italy  (1863),  and 
Southern  France  (1864).  He  was,  as  he  tells  us  in  his  most 
characteristic  essay,  pointed  out  as  "  the  pattern  of  an 
idler  "  throughout  his  youth.  He  read  extensively  and  imi- 
tated the  writers  he  read.  This  "  idleness  "  was  continued 
Lt  Edinburgh  University,  where  he  went  in  1867  with  the 


avowed  purpose  of  fitting  himself  to  be  an  engmeer.  Only 
one  of  his  professors  made  any  impression  on  him,  and  that 
was  due  not  to  any  discipline  of  the  classroom,  but  rather 
to  his  personal  charm  and  to  his  encouragement  of  ama- 
teur theatricals.  Stevenson  was  a  member  of  the  Specu- 
lative Society,  a  group  of  interesting  fellow-students  in 
whose  conversations  and  debates  he  delighted.  He  took  an 
active  part  in  the  projection  of  a  college  magazine,  which 
ran  through  four  numbers, — long  enough,  it  may  be  said, 
to  give  the  young  writer  his  first  taste  of  publicity. 

Of  more  importance  in  Stevenson's  training  for  an  engi- 
neer and  in  his  love  of  adventure  were  the  vacations  spent 
in  the  furtherance  of  his  father's  engineering  plans.  In 
1868  he  spent  several  weeks  at  Wick,  with  "its  grey 
shores,  grim  grey  houses,  grim  grey  sea."  On  that  occa- 
sion he  wrote  to  his  mother:  "I  have  had  a  long,  hard 
day's  work  in  cold,  wind,  and  almost  incessant  rain.  We 
got  a  lighter  and  a  boat,  and  were  at  it  till  half-past 
seven,  doing  laborer's  work,  pulling,  hauling,  and  tug- 
ging." In  1869  he  went  with  his  father  on  the  Pharos 
to  the  Orkneys  and  Shetlands, — in  part,  the  same  cruise 


Introduction  xi 

as  that  on  which  his  grandfather  had  once  attended  Sir 
Walter  Scott.  The  next  year  he  spent  three  weeks  on  the 
little  island  of  Earraid,  which  later  served  him  as  the 
background  of  one  of  the  most  exciting  incidents  in 
Kidnapped. 

Of  the  value  of  all  this  experience  he  afterwards  wrote : 
"It  takes  a  man  into  the  open  air;  it  keeps  him  hanging 
about  harbor  sides,  which  is  the  richest  form  of  idling,  it 
carries  him  to  wild  islands."  And  then  he  suggested  the 
difficulty,  for  him  at  least,  of  following  the  profession: 
"  And  when  it  has  done  so,  it  takes  him  back  and  shuts 
him  in  an  office.  From  the  roaring  skerry  and  the  wet 
thwart  of  the  tossing  boat,  he  passes  to  the  stool  and 
desk."  Stevenson  enjoyed  adventures,  but  not  the  pretty 
niceties  of  drawing  or  the  several  pages  of  consecutive 
drawing.  In  a  word,  he  could  not  "balance  one  part  of 
genuine  life  against  two  parts  of  drudgery  between  four 
walls." 

For  this  reason,  then,  Stevenson,  in  iSTJU^ot  the  con- 
sent of  his  father  to  abandoriThe  plan  of  becoming  an 
engineer.  If  he  had  followed  his  own  inclination,  he 
would  then  have  begun  his  literary  career;  but  his  father 
felt  that  he  ought  to  have  a  more  substantial  profession. 
,^10  for  four  \c;irs  he  was  nominally  studying  law,  pass- 
ing his  examinations,  and  making  a  feeble  attempt  for  a 
few  months  to  practice  in  the  courts.  He  felt  but  little 
■  interest  in  the  law,  however,  finding  in  it  not  even  the 
attraction  that  there  was  in  the  outdoor  life  of  the 
engineer.  So  by  1873  he  was  passing  through  a  rather 
critical  period  in  his  life.  Unable  to  do  the  work  that 
he  wanted  to  do,  he  became  unsettled  in  purpose — "  torn 
hither  and  thither  by  fifty  conflicting  currents  of  specula- 
tion, impulse,  and  desire."  He  was  in  danger  of  being 
drawn  into  a  Bohemian  life,  frequenting  as  he  did  some 


xil  Introduction 

of  the  haunts  of  altogether  unconventional  people.  He 
was  at  one  time  all  but  a  socialist,  so  s\jnpathetic  did  he 
become  with  the  less  fortunate  people  of  his  city.  Fur- 
thermore, he  had  serious  religious  doubts,  his  maturer 
judgment  and  unsettled  life  leading  him  into  sharp  reac- 
tion against  the  s(\cre  faith  of  his  childhood.  For  the 
only  time  in  his  life,  save  one,  there  was  a  serious  mis- 
understanding with  his  parents,  his  father  especially  being 
dogmatic  and  severe.  \  \  \ 

Several  forces  conspired  to  save  Hirfi,' — notably  a  group 
of  sympathetic  friends  who  gathered  about  him.  The 
chief  of  these  were:  his  cousin  Robert  A.  M.  Steven- 
son, the  favorite  of  his  childhood  playmates,  who  re- 
turned to  Edinburgh  after  an  absence  of  several  years; 
Professor  Fleeming  Jenkin,  at  whose  house  he  was  to  spend 
some  of  the  most  pleasant  hours  of  his  life  and  to  whose 
memory  he  afterwards  paid  a  loving  tribute  in  a  biography ; 
and  Sir  Walter  Simpson,  the  intimate  corripanion  of 
many  of  his  journeys,  and  later  of  the  canoe  voyage.  What 
these  friends  meant  to  him  at  this  period  of  greensickness 
and  morbidity,  is  suggested  in  Stevenson's  own  words 
about  his  cousin  "Bob":  "To  be  growing,  finding  new 
ideas  and  not  to  have  a  confidante,  is  an  astounding  misery. 
I  thought  I  minded  for  nothing  when  I  found  my  Faith- 
ful ;  I  was  done  with  the  suUens  forever ;  and  there  was 
an  end  of  greensickness  for  my  life  as  soon  as  I  had  got  a 
friend  to  laugh  with." 

His  books  were  likewise  a  refuge  and  inspiration..  It 
was  a  good  day  for  him  when  he  began  to  read  the  New 
Testament.  The  sweet  reasonableness  of  the  Gospels  ap- 
pealed to  him  strongly:  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  drew 
many  sharp  contrasts  between  the  religion  of  Christ  and 
the  sterner  mandates  of  the  Law,  There  is  the  note  of 
devotion  in  the  sentences  in  which  he  records  the  end  of  the 


Introduction  xHI 

struggle  through  which  he  passed :  "  I  came  about  like  a 
well-handled  ship.  There  stood  at  the  wheel  that  un- 
known steersman  whom  we  call  God." 

Coincident  with  his  moral  and  intellectual  victory  came 
an  increasing  assurance  as  to  his  literary  work.  In  the 
summer  of  1873  he  met  at  the  house  of  a  kinswoman  in 
Suffolk  the  well-known  critic,  Sidney  Colvin,  who  was 
immediately  attracted  to  him  by  his  brilliant  conversa- 
tion and  by  the  unmistakable  evidences  of  his  genius.  "  He 
had  only  to  speak,"  says  Colvin,  "  to  be  recognized  in  the 
first  minute  for  a  witty  and  charming  gentleman,  and 
within  the  first  five  for  a  master  spirit  and  man  of  genius." 
Colvin  at  once  encouraged  him  to  follow  the  career  of  let- 
ters. When  in  the  following  winter  Stevenson  was 
ordered  to  go  to  Southern  France  on  account  of  his  health, 
Colvin  visited  him  at  Mentone,  introduced  him  to  An- 
drew Lang,  gave  him  suggestions  as  to  the  kind  of  work  he 
might  do  and  as  to  possible  editors  and  publishers.  On  his 
return  in  the  spring,  Stevenson  became  a  member  of  the 
Savile  Club  of  London,  where  he  met  Edmund  Gosse, 
Leslie  Stephen,  and  other  men  of  letters,  who  became  at 
once  his  friends  and  most  sympathetic  critics. 

It  was  fortunate  that  just  at  this  period  Stevenson 
should  have  spent  much  time  in  and  near  Paris.  Each 
year  from  1875  to  1879  inclusive,  he  lived  for  weeks  or 
months  in  close  intimacy  with  the  artist  colonies  of  Fon- 
tainebleau,  Barbizon,  Grez,  and  Nemours;  and  was  all 
the  while  in  easy  reach  of  Paris,  with  its  galleries,  its 
theaters,  and  its  cafes.  The  outdoor  life  ministered  to  his 
good  health,  while  the  natural  beauty  of  the  country  in 
spring  and  autumn  left  its  impress  on  some  of  the  most 
poetical  pages  in  his  essays.  One  of  the  best  passages  in 
"Talks  and  Talkers"  tells  of  "three  young  men  who 
walked  together  for  some  two  months  in  a  solemn  and 


xlv  Introduction 

beautiful  forest  and  in  cloudless  summer  weather."  One 
of  these  young  men  was  his  cousin  "  Bob  " ;  the  other  might 
have  been  either  Simpson  or  the  American  artist,  Will 
H.  how.  And  these  were  not  the  only  friends  with  whom 
he  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  Siron's  Inn,  "  that  excellent 
artists'  barrack."         ^ 

Aside  from  the  recreation  he  received  from  his  walks 
in  the  forest,  aside  from  the  enjoyment  of  his  friends,  was 
the  influence  of  the  very  atmosphere  of  art  he  breathed. 
He  who  had  lived  in  Edinburgh  where  the  artist's  life 
was  held  in  little  regard,  who  had  had  to  struggle  to  get 
the  permission  of  his  father  to  follow  literature,  found 
himself  in  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  encourage  art. 
He  himself  says  in  his  essay  on  "  Fontainebleau  " :  "  There 
Is  something  in  the  very  air  of  France  that  communicates 
the  love  of  style.  Precision,  clarity,  the  cleanly  and  crafty 
employment  of  material,  a  grace  in  the  handling,  apart 
from  any  value  in  the  thought,  seem  to  be  acquired  by  the 
mere  residence.  .  .  .  The  air  of  Paris  is  alive  with  this 
technical  inspiration."  In  a  word,  he  was  learning  that  art 
is  a  trade ;  while  he  seemed  to  be  an  idler,  his  life  was  one 
of  a  steady  and  growing  industry  in  the  perfection  of  his 
style. 

The  fact  is  that  no  English  writer  since  the  eighteenth 
century  has  been  so  influenced  by  France.  Stevenson 
could  speak  French  so  w^ell  that  he  was  frequently  taken 
for  a  Frenchman,  albeit  of  another  province.  He  could 
write  French  well,  too,  as  the  idiomatic  passages  in  his 
two  books  of  travel  go  to  show.  What  is  more  to  the 
point  is,  that  his  English  style,  in  its  clearness,  its  flexi- 
bility, and  its  melody,  shows  the  influence  of  French  style. 
His  essays  on  Victor  Hugo,  Francois  Villon,  Charles  of 
Orleans,  the  frequent  references  in  his  let  •'s  and  essays 
to  French  writers,  his  tribute  to  his  masters,  Montaigne 


Introduction  xv 

and  Dumas,  all  illustrate  his  accurate  and  extensive  knowl- 
edge of  French  literature;  while  his  short  stories,  A 
Lodging  for  the  Night,  Providence  and  the  Guitar,  Sire 
de  Maledroit's  Door,  and  The  Treasure  of  Franchard 
grew  out  of  his  reading  and  observations  in  this  fruitful 
period  of  his  career.  Several  of  the  best  chapters  in  The 
Wrecker  are  strictly  autobiographical  in  their  presentation 
of  the  incidents  of  his  life  in  Paris.  The  two  books  of 
travel  that  are  published  in  this  volume  are  filled  with 
allusions  and  expressions  and  character  sketches  that  are 
distinctly  French  in  substance  and  in  manner. 

Among  other  happy  results  of  his  life  in  France,  one  of 
the  most  significant  was  his  meeting  with  the  woman 
who  was  afterwards  to  be  his  wife.  On  his  return  from 
his  canoe  voyage  in  September,  1876,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  that  the  colony  of  artists  at  Grez  had  been  "  invaded  " 
by  an  American  lady  (Mrs.  Osbourne),  who,  unhappy 
in  her  married  life  at  home,  had  come  abroad  to  educate 
her  children.  It  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  When 
three  years  later  she  returned  to  San  Francisco  and  fell 
ill,  Stevenson  decided,  without  consulting  his  parents  and 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  his  friends,  to  go  to  her.  Partly 
for  economy  and  partly  for  the  love  of  adventure,  he  went 
second  cabin  on  an  inferior  boat,  even  sharing  the  life  of 
the  steerage  passengers,  and  incidentally  getting  material 
for  his  Amateur  Emigrant.  Landing  in  New  York,  he 
took  an  emigrant  train  for  the  West.  For  three  months 
he  lived  on  a  goat  ranch  at  Monterey,  frequently  at 
death's  door.  He  then  went  to  San  Francisco,  where 
for  several  months  he  lived — to  quote  his  own  words — "  in 
a  circle  of  Hell  unknown  to  Dante — that  of  the  penniless 
and  dying  author."  Perhaps  at  no  other  period  of  his  life 
was  he  so  near  giving  up  in  the  brave  struggle  that  he 
made  for  health  and  literary  success.     Cut  o£E  from  his 


xvl  Introduction 

home  and  friends,  reduced  almost  to  poverty,  unable  to 
attract  the  attention  of  editors  and  publishers,  and  for  a 
time  without  hope  that  he  could  marry  the  woman  he 
loved,  he  was  in  the  direst  extremity. 

Finally,  however,  on  May  19,  1880,  he  was  married 
to  Mrs.  Osbourne,  who  had  secured  a  divorce  from  her 
former  husband.  That  his  marriage  was  the  best  move 
Stevenson  ever  made  was  his  often  expressed  conviction — 
an  opinion  shared  also  by  his  parents  and  friends  when 
they  came  to  know  his  wife.  Sidney  Colvin  speaks  of  her 
as  "  a  character  as  strong,  as  interesting,  and  romantic 
almost  as  his  own ;  an  inseparable  sharer  of  all  his  thoughts 
and  the  staunch  companion  of  all  his  adventures ;  the  most 
open-hearted  of  friends  to  all  who  loved  him ;  the  most 
shrewd  and  stimulating  critic  of  his  works;  and  in  sick- 
ness, despite  her  own  precarious  health,  the  most  devoted 
and  efficient  of  nurses." 

They  decided  to  go  to  an  old  mining  camp,  some  fifty 
miles  from  San  Francisco,  "  to  fish,  hunt,  sketch,  study 
Spanish,  French,  Latin,  Euclid,  and  history."  He  wrote 
home  to  one  of  his  friends:  "I  always  feel  as  if  I  must 
write  a  work  of  genius  sometime  or  other — and  when  is 
it  more  likely  to  come  off  than  when  I  have  just  paid  a 
visit  to  Styx  and  go  thence  to  the  eternal  mountains?" 
All  that  came  out  of  this  incident,  however,  was  the 
Silverado  Squatters,  published  three  years  later. 

In  August,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  his  parents, 
Stevenson  returned  to  Scotland  with  his  wife  and  stepson, 
Lloyd  Osbourne.  They  all  lived  together  for  several 
months  in  the  Highlands,  whose  romantic  history  had  long 
fascinated  Stevenson  but  whose  climate  was  not  suited  to 
him.  While  here  and  at  Davos  in  Switzerland,  he  pub- 
lished his  first  volume  of  essays  {Virginibus  Puerisque) 
and  his  Child's  Garden  of  Verses^  and  wrote  the  book  of 


Introduction  xvil 

genius  that  he  had  long  dreamed  of  writing.  Hitherto 
he  had  been  known  to  a  select  audience  as  the  author 
of  books  of  travel  and  as  an  essayist ;  now  he  was  to 
become  one  of  the  most  popular  novelists  of  his  age. 

Treasure  Island  (1883)  at  once  made  Stevenson  fa- 
mous, and  gave  him  what  he  had  so  long  wanted,  a  rea- 
sonably good  income.  Three  years  later  he  published 
Kidnapped,  with  its  exciting  adventures  on  sea  and  land. 
He  not  only  found  an  outlet  for  that  spirit  of  adventure 
which  had  always  characterized  him,  but  he  struck  the 
reading  public  at  the  psychological  moment  when  it  was 
tired  of  the  realism  that  had  dominated  France  and  Eng- 
land for  many  years.  Statesmen  like  Gladstone  and  promi- 
nent men  of  all  professions,  as  well  as  the  critics,  vied 
with  each  other  in  tributes  to  the  new  romancer,  who  had 
taken  up,  after  more  than  half  a  century,  the  work  of  his 
fellow-countryman,  Scott.  His  long  apprenticeship  in  the 
mastery  of  his  art  had  not  been  in  vain.  In  a  very  signifi- 
cant passage  he  tells  us  of  his  experience  in  writing  Kid- 
napped: "  I  began  it  as  a  pot-boiler,  but  suddenly  the  char- 
acters became  detached  from  the  flat  paper,  turned  their 
backs  on  me  and  walked  off  bodily ;  and  from  that  time  my 
task  was  stenographic — it  was  they  who  spoke,  it  was  they 
who  wrote  the  remainder  of  the  story." 

And  yet,  while  he  was  writing  these  romances  and  the 
still  more  popular  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde,  he  was  suffering  from  continuous  attacks  of  hemor- 
rhages. He  described  himself  at  that  time  as  "  a  miser- 
able, snuffling,  shivering,  fever-stricken,  nightmare-ridden 
.  .  .  shadow  and  remains  of  a  man.  ...  I  am  too  blind 
to  read,  hence  no  reading;  I  am  too  weak  to  walk,  hence 
no  walking;  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak,  hence  no  talking." 
Unable  to  endure  the  climate  of  the  Alps  at  Davos  or  that 
of  the  Highlands,  he  lived  for  sixteen  months  (1883-84) 


xvlli  Introduction 

at  Hyercs,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  points  on  the  Riviera. 
"  Love,  poetry,  music,  and  the  Arabian  Nights  inhabit 
just  my  corner  of  the  universe,  and  I  dwell  already  next 
door  to  heaven,"  he  wrote;  he  enjoyed  everything  but 
good  health.  He  did  not  fare  better  w-hen  he  lived  at 
Bournemouth  in  Southern  England  from  1884  to  1887. 
Furthermore,  he  was  saddened  by  the  growing  ill-health  of 
his  father.  Nowhere  does  Stevenson's  character  show  to 
better  advantage  than  in  the  letters  written  to  his  father 
at  this  time — full  as  they  are  of  good  cheer  and  affection. 

When  his  father's  death  in  1887  cut  the  last  tie  that 
bound  him  to  Scotland  and  when  it  seemed  that  he  had  no 
hope  of  getting  relief  from  his  disease  in  Europe,  he  de- 
cided to  take  his  mother  and  family  to  America.  His 
fame  had  preceded  him ;  he  found  himself  besieged  by  pub- 
lishers and  editors.  After  staying  for  a  w-hile  at  Newport, 
he  went  to  Saranac  Lake  in  the  Adirondacks  to  spend  the 
winter.  He  made  some  interesting  friends  (notably  Saint- 
Gaudens,  the  artist),  wrote  a  series  of  his  best  essays  for 
Scribner's  Magazine,  and  started  the  Master  of  Ballan- 
trae.  His  wife,  who  had  gone  on  to  San  Francisco  to 
visit  old  friends,  was  asked  to  inquire  about  a  yacht 
with  a  view  to  a  cruise  in  the  Pacific.  The  desire  to  go  to 
the  South  Seas  had  long  been  a  dream  of  Stevenson's.  So 
on  June  28,  1888,  he  and  his  family  sailed  from  San  Fran- 
cisco on  the  yacht  Casco,  intending  to  make  a  cruise  of 
several  months. 

It  is  not  necessary  here  to  rehearse  the  details  of  his 
voyages,  from  the  morning  in  July  when  he  saw  the  first 
sunrise  over  the  first  South  Sea  island — "  the  silence  of 
expectation,  the  customary  thrill  of  landfall  heightened  by 
the  strangeness  of  the  shores  that  we  were  then  approach- 
ing " — to  the  time  when  he  resolved  to  make  his  home  in 
Samoa.     The  most  notable  incident  in  this  preliminary 


Introduction  xlx 

period  was  the  six  months  spent  at  Honolulu,  where  he 
finished  the  Master  of  Ballantrae  and  visited  the  leper 
colony  of  Father  Damien.  He  was  perhaps  happier  in 
his  cruises  among  the  uncivilized  islands,  where  he  made 
many  interesting  friendships  with  native  chiefs  and  heard 
native  legends.  He  summed  up  his  enjoyment  in  one  sen- 
tence: "This  climate;  these  voyages;  these  landfalls  at 
dawn  and  islands  peeking  from  the  morning  bank  .  .  . 
the  whole  tale  of  my  life  is  better  than  any  poem." 

He  now  and  then  tried  to  get  back  to  civilization,  as  at 
Sydney,  but  every  time  he  had  a  relapse  that  almost  cost 
him  his  life.  He  dreamed  at  times  of  going  back  on  a  visit 
to  his  native  land,  or  of  meeting  his  friends  in  Southern 
France,  but  he  finally  decided  to  make  his  permanent  home 
in  Samoa.  So  in  1890  he  settled  at  Apia  on  a  hillside  six 
hundred  feet  above  the  sea  and  surrounded  by  a  virgin 
forest.  He  himself  worked  at  the  clearing  away  of  the 
forest,  the  building  of  the  house,  the  making  of  the  roads, 
the  maintenance  of  garden  and  farm.  His  place  was 
called  Vailima,  the  Samoan  word  for  "  five  rivers."  He 
reproduced  the  ancient  feudal  life  of  his  own  land,  modi- 
fied by  native  customs.  He  gathered  about  him  a  faithful 
band  of  servants,  settled  the  disputes  of  his  neighbors, 
interested  himself  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  island 
even  to  the  point  of  danger  to  himself,  as  host  received 
large  numbers  of  guests  of  all  nations,  and  entered  sym- 
pathetically into  the  plans  of  missionaries. 

Thus  he  realized  to  some  extent  the  long-cherished 
ideal  of  being  a  man  of  action.  All  the  while,  however, 
he  was  diligently  writing  his  books.  He  was  known  by  the 
natives  as  Tusitala,  "  Teller  of  Tales,"  and  such  he  was 
to  English  and  American  readers.  He  kept  in  touch 
with  literary  men  at  home,  encouraged  his  younger  con- 
temporaries like  Kipling  and  Barrie,  wrote  the  letters  that 


XX  Introduction 

have  become  classics,  and  all  the  while  he  was  planning 
and  writing  new  volumes.  He  generally  began  work  at 
six  in  the  morning  and  wrote  till  noon,  sometimes  till  four 
or  five  in  the  afternoon.  Thus  he  wrote  a  series  of  papers 
on  the  South  Seas,  started  the  Family  of  Engineers,  and 
completed  the  Vailima  Letters,  a  series  of  journal-letters 
written  to  his  friend,  Sidney  Colvin.  He  collaborated 
with  his  stepson  in  writing  The  Wrecker,  The  Wrong 
Box,  and  St.  Ives.  He  wrote  David  Balfour,  a  sequel 
to  Kidnapped,  and  started  on  Weir  of  Hermiston. 

The  writing  of  this  last  romance  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  incidents  in  recent  literary  histor\'.  For  several 
months,  if  we  may  judge  from  his  letters,  he  had  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  struck  a  somewhat  discouraged  note 
as  to  both  himself  and  his  work.  He  felt  that  he  had  come 
to  "  a  dead  stop."  And  yet  when  death  came  to  him,  he 
was  in  the  midst  of  what  most  critics  are  agreed  would 
have  been  his  greatest  work.  His  step-daughter,  Mrs. 
Strong,  who  was  his  amanuensis  at  the  time,  says  that  he 
seemed  to  be  dictating  as  from  an  unseen  book.  His  love 
of  Scotland,  for  which  he  often  sighed  in  his  exile,  his 
vivid  realization  of  the  historical  background,  and  a  sud- 
den flood  of  inspiration,  all  combined  to  make  of  the  work 
a  tremendous  success.  And  one  day,  December  3,  1894, 
when  he  was  in  the  full  glow  of  composition,  he  died  sud- 
denly, thus  meeting  the  death  that  he  had  years  ago  pic- 
tured as  the  ideal: 

"  In  the  hot-fit  of  life,  a-tiptoe  on  the  highest  point  of 
being,  he  passes  at  a  bound  on  to  the  other  side.  The 
noise  of  the  mallet  and  chisel  is  scarcely  quenched,  the 
trumpets  are  hardly  done  blowing  when,  trailing  with  him 
clouds  of  glory,  this  happy-starred,  full-blooded  spirit 
shoots  into  the  spiritual  land." 


Introduction  xxl 


II 


'AN  INLAND  VOYAGE  AND  TRAVELS  WITH 
A  DONKEY 

Stevenson  once  wrote  to  his  mother:  "You  must 
understand  that  I  shall  be  a  nomad,  more  or  less,  until  my 
days  are  done.  ,  .  .  You  don't  know  how  much  I  used 
to  long  for  it  in  old  days;  how  I  used  to  go  and  look  at 
the  trains  leaving,  and  wish  to  go  with  them.  ...  I 
must  be  a  bit  of  a  vagabond ;  it's  your  own  fault,  after  all, 
isn't  it?  You  shouldn't  have  had  a  tramp  for  a  son."  In 
another  letter  he  referred  to  his  gypsy  nature ;  his  sym- 
pathy for  tramps  and  gypsies  is  evident  in  the  Inland 
Voyage. 

It  is  already  apparent  from  the  foregoing  sketch  of  his 
life  that  he  was  a  traveler  from  his  youth.  As  he  became 
older  and  freer  in  his  movements,  he  went  on  long  walk- 
ing expeditions,  and  later  on  a  yachting  expedition  with  his 
friend.  Sir  Walter  Simpson,  along  the  western  coast  of 
Scotland.  In  the  summer  of  1875  he  and  Simpson  had 
a  long  walking  trip  in  the  valley  of  the  Loing  and  many 
shorter  ones  in  and  around  Fontainebleau.  The  follow- 
ing year,  September,  1876,  they  took  the  canoe  voyage  from 
Antwerp  to  Pontoise,  the  record  of  which  we  have  in  the 
Inland  Voyage.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  thus  summarized 
the  general  impressions  of  the  trip,  a  bit  more  realistic 
than  the  somewhat  idealized  sketch :  "  I  have  fought  it 
through  under  the  worst  weather  I  ever  saw  in  France; 
I  have  been  wet  through  nearly  every  day  of  travel  since 
the  second;  besides  this  I  have  had  to  fight  it  through 
against  pretty  mouldy  health ;  so  that,  on  the  whole,  the 
essayist  and  reviewer  has  shown,  I  think,  some  pluck." 


xxil  Introduction 

The  two  friends  intended  to  pursue  their  journey  on  to 
the  Rhone;  then  they  decided  to  wait  till  next  year.  In 
the  meantime  they  were  to  equip  a  barge,  as  suggested  in 
the  preface  to  the  Inland  Voyage.  Their  plans  came  to 
naught,  however.  Instead  Stevenson  himself,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1878,  took  a  donkey  trip  through  the  Cevennes, 
a  mountain  range  in  Southern  France.  He  thus  realized 
one  of  his  favorite  ideas  that  a  walking  tour  should  be 
taken  alone ;  because  freedom  is  the  essence  of  it. 

During  these  years,  when  he  was  enjoying  good  health 
to  the  utmost,  he  was  beginning  to  write  and  to  publish. 
His  first  essays  and  books  related  largely  to  his  travels. 
In  1876 — the  year  of  the  canoe  voyage — he  wrote  three 
essays  of  travel ;  but  his  first  three  published  books  were 
the  two  volumes  here  collected  and  one  entitled  Pic- 
turesque Notes  of  Edinburgh.  He,  who  had  from  his 
earliest  years  carried  note-books  with  him  to  jot  down 
impressions  of  what  he  saw  and  read,  now,  under  the 
inspiration  of  his  travels  and  the  impetus  to  lead  a  literary 
life,  found  the  records  of  his  travel  adapted  to  artistic 
treatment.  The  Inland  Voyage  was  written  at  once  to 
make  money — he  received  twenty  pounds  for  it — and  with 
a  desire  to  get  a  definite  piece  of  w'ork  accomplished.  He 
said:  "I  want  coin  badly,  and  besides  it  would  be  some- 
thing done — something  put  outside  of  me,  and  off  my  con- 
science ;  and  I  should  not  feel  such  a  muff  as  I  do,  if  once 
I  saw  the  thing  in  bonds  with  a  ticket  on  its  back.  I 
think  I  shall  frequent  circulating  libraries  a  good  deal." 

He  was  writing  at  the  Inland  Voyage  nearly  two  years, 
— he  wrote  the  preface  four  times, — while  he  finished  the 
Travels  with  a  Donkey  in  a  few  months.  The  impression 
made  by  the  two  books  is  indicated  in  a  remark  of  Henry 
James:  "I  seemed  to  see  the  author,  unknown  as  yet  to 
fame,  jump  before  my  eyes  into  a  style.     His  steps  in 


Introduction  xxlli 

literature  had  presumably  not  been  many,  yet  he  had  mas- 
tered his  form  and  a  singular  air  of  literary  experience." 
At  the  same  time  he  was  publishing  essays,  literary  and 
personal,  in  the  magazines;  he  had  begun,  too,  his  experi- 
ments with  the  short  story,  and  he  had  even  attempted  the 
writing  of  plays  in  collaboration  with  his  friend,  W.  E. 
Henley,  but  these  books  of  travel  were  his  most  popular 
work  before  the  appearance  of  Treasure  Island. 

Certainly  An  Inland  Foyage  and  Travels  with  a  Donkey 
will  always  have  a  high  rank  among  the  unconventional 
books  of  travel.  There  is  nothing  of  the  guide-book  in 
them:  the  places  described  are  off  the  beaten  track  of 
travelers  in  Europe.  Only  a  few  of  the  more  zealous 
devotees  have  ever  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  Stevenson. 
There  are  no  descriptions  of  famous  places  or  buildings 
or  rivers  or  mountains — the  nearest  approach  is  in  the  de- 
scription of  Noyon  Cathedral.  There  is  only  a  sugges- 
tion here  and  there  of  some  historical  associations — such 
as  the  Franco-Prussian  War  or  the  persecution  of  the 
Protestants  in  the  Camisard  region. 

The  books,  however,  have  some  value  as  a  revelation 
of  French  life  and  customs.  Attention  has  already  been 
called  to  the  fact  that  Stevenson  was  from  1875  to  1879 
a  constant  visitor  to  Paris  and  Fontainebleau.  Before 
and  after  this  time  he  lived  on  the  Riviera  for  his  health. 
He  once  estimated  that  he  had  visited  forty-eight  towns 
in  England,  fifty  in  Scotland,  and  seventy-four  in  France, 
thirty-one  of  these  last  more  than  once.  It  was  perhaps 
in  his  journeys  along  the  rivers  and  canals  and  through 
the  remote  mountains  that  he  best  saw  the  French  people 
in  their  elemental  life.  The  two  volumes  are  full  of 
penetrating  passages  that  reveal  French  traits,  characters, 
and  points  of  view  as  contrasted  with  English.  The 
country  inns,  the  picturesque  types,  the  idyllic  scenes, — all 


xxlv  Introduction 

these  indicate  Stevenson's  knowledge  of  French  rural  life, 
as  his  essays  and  letters  suggest  the  charm  of  Paris  or 
the  beauty  of  Southern  France.  In  his  earlier  days  he 
visited  Italy,  once  or  twice  he  traveled  in  Germany, 
but  we  have  very  few  of  his  comments  on  those  countries. 
France  he  loved  as  second  only  to  his  native  land. 

And  yet  the  value  of  these  books  of  travel  does  not  lie  in 
the  style  or  in  the  information;  it  lies  rather  in  their  like- 
ness to  his  best  personal  essays.  No  one  of  his  other 
books  of  travel  has  the  same  charm.  The  letters  on  the 
South  Seas  are  more  informing,  and  some  of  the  chapters 
in  The  Amateur  Emigrant  and  Silverado  Squatters  are 
more  romantic.  But  Stevenson  never  quite  recaptured  the 
felicity  of  literary  allusion,  the  delicacy  of  the  character- 
sketches,  and  the  mellowness  of  his  reflections  on  life,  to 
be  found  in  these  books  of  his  youth.  There  is  a  blend- 
ing of  humor  and  sentiment,  of  personal  whim  and  gentle 
moralizing,  that  characterizes  Lamb  and  Thackeray. 

There  are  some  almost  lyrical  bits  of  description  of 
nature,  as  for  instance  the  dawn  at  the  end  of  his  night 
among  the  pines.  But  to  him  landscape  on  a  walking 
tour  was  quite  accessory.  "  He  who  is  indeed  of  the 
brotherhood,"  he  says,  "  does  not  voyage  in  quest  of  the 
picturesque  but  of  certain  jolly  humors — of  the  hope  and 
spirit  with  which  the  march  begins  at  morning,  and  the 
peace  and  spiritual  reflections  of  the  evening's  rest." 
This  presentation  of  the  "  jolly  humors  "  of  the  traveler 
is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  characteristics  of  the  volumes. 
Again,  there  are  some  w-ell-drawn  character-sketches  of 
people  seen  along  the  way — the  fishermen  and  the  chil- 
dren along  the  river  bank,  the  traveling  merchant  and  his 
family,  the  inn-keepers,  especially  the  Bazins,  the  monks 
and  their  guests  at  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

After  all,  however,  the  character  best  revealed  is  Steven- 


Introduction  xxv 

son  himself.  We  have  his  personal  appearance,  the  charm 
of  his  conversation,  the  books  that  he  relished  as  shown 
in  his  allusions,  and,  above  all,  his  views  of  life.  A  series 
of  passages — little  essays — might  be  collected  from  the 
two  volumes  that  would  suggest  his  ideas  of  the  relative 
importance  of  one's  business  and  leisure,  of  charity  and 
tolerance,  of  the  good  and  evil  aspects  of  nature  as  sym- 
bolized in  the  legend  of  Pan  and  his  pipes,  of  the  glory  of 
cathedrals  and  forests,  of  the  pleasure  of  getting  away  from 
the  feather  bed  of  civilization,  of  the  place  of  love  in 
human  life,  and  of  religion  itself.  Most  of  all  the  author 
reveals  his  optimism.  There  is,  as  he  suggests,  not  a 
single  reference  to  the  imbecility  of  God's  universe.  He 
would  have  men  sing  the  Laudate  Deo  and  not  the 
Miserere.  He  would  put  us  in  a  good  heart  about  life. 
To  an  age  jaded  with  the  realistic  novel,  Stevenson  gave 
romances  that  awoke  his  readers  to  the  glory  of  action 
and  adventure.  To  an  age  sick  with  introspection  and 
despair,  he  went  to  "  the  head  of  the  march  to  sound  the 
heady  drums." 

There  are,  to  be  sure,  defects  in  the  two  books.  Steven- 
son himself  felt  the  limitations  of  the  Inland  Voyage,  when 
he  wrote:  "If  they  liked  that  so  much  I  ought  to  have 
given  them  something  better,  that's  all.  Now  I  shall  try 
to  do  so."  And  again:  "It  is  not  badly  written,  thin, 
mildly  cheery,  and  strained."  Many  years  later,  when  he 
had  written  some  of  his  great  romances,  he  rebuked  a 
friendly  critic  for  judging  him  by  these  "two  affected 
little  books  of  travel." 

The  fact  is  that  there  were  two  or  three  distinct  ele- 
ments in  Stevenson.  He  was  a  critic,  as  one  may  see  by 
reading  his  Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books.  He  was 
one  of  the  masters  of  the  personal  essay;  witness  his  Mem- 
ories and  Portraits  and  Firginibus  Puerisque.     He  was  a 


xxvl  Introduction 

great  romancer,  the  successor  of  Scott ;  witness  his  Kid' 
napped  and  Master  of  Ballantrae.  Some  prefer  the  Dumas 
or  Scott  in  Stevenson  and  will  have  naught  to  do  with  the 
sentimentalist  or  the  preacher  in  him ;  others  are  attracted 
to  him  most  by  his  humorous  and  wise  reflections  on  life. 
The  wiser  course  is  to  take  him  in  all  his  variety  and  find 
therein  one  of  his  most  distinctive  charms. 


DESCRIPTIVE    BIBLIOGRAPHY 

An  authoritative  sketch  of  Stevenson's  life  by  Sidney 
Colvin  may  be  found  in  the  Dictionary  of  National  Bi- 
ography. The  same  writer  has  edited  with  appropriate 
comment  and  notes  the  Vailitna  Letters,  written  by 
Stevenson  in  the  last  years  of  his  life,  and  a  larger  body 
of  correspondence  covering  his  whole  career.  These  let- 
ters best  tell  the  story  of  the  author's  life,  and  at  the  same 
time  are  interesting  in  themselves  as  among  the  best  letters 
of  modern  times.  The  standard  biography  (2  vols..  New 
York,  1901)  is  by  Graham  Balfour,  who  had  access  to  all 
the  records  of  the  family,  besides  a  close  personal  acquaint- 
ance that  extended  over  many  years.  Stevensoniana  by  J. 
A.  Hammerton  (Edinburgh,  1907)  is  a  collection  of  inter- 
esting articles,  reminiscent  in  character.  The  same  writer 
published  in  1908  In  the  Track  of  R.  L.  Stevenson 
(Dutton,  New  York) — the  account  of  a  journey  taken 
by  the  author  over  the  same  routes  as  those  described  in 
An  Inland  Voyage  and  Travels  with  a  Donkey. 

After  all,  the  best  impressions  of  the  author's  personality 
and  the  principal  incidents  and  influences  of  his  life  may 
be  gained  by  reading  his  essays,  especially  Memories  and 
Portraits,  Essays  of  Travel,  and  Across  the  Plains.  No 
author  has  written  with  greater  charm  about  his  own  life, 
his  friends,  and  his  books. 

The  definitive  editions  of  Stevenson's  writings  are  the 
Thistle  Edition  and  the  Biographical  Edition  (edited  by 
Mrs.  Stevenson) — both  published   by  Charles  Scribner's 

xxvii 


xx\  iii  Descriptive  Bibliography 

Sons,  New  York.  The  sjime  firm  also  brought  out  in  191 1, 
under  the  editorship  of  Sidney  Colvin,  a  new  edition  of 
Stevenson's  correspondence,  containing  more  than  a  hun- 
dred letters  never  before  published. 

The  following  list  comprises  Stevenson's  most  impor- 
tant books,  along  with  the  dates  of  their  first  issue.  A 
brief  description  follows  the  title  of  each  book  in  most 
cases  where  none  appears  in  the  Introduction: 

1878.  An  Inland  Voyage. 

1879.  Picturesque  Notes  on  Edinburgh. 

The  best  short  description  and  interpretation  of  the  city 
that  exercised   a  great  influence  over  the  author. 

1879.     Travels  ivith  a  Donkey  in  the  Cevennes. 

i88i.     Virginihus   Puerisque. 

A  collection  of  essa.vs  which  he  had  been  writing  for 
several  years  for  various  magazines.  A  little  volume 
of  special  pleadings  which  he  himself  called  "  Life  at 
Twenty-five."  The  best  of  the  essays  are  "  An  Apology 
for  Idlers,  "  Ordered  South,"  "  ^s  Triplex,"  and 
"Child's  Play." 

1882.     Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books. 

A  volume  of  his  critical  essays  on  English,  American, 
and  French  writers,  notably  Victor  Hugo,  Burns, 
Thoreau,   Walt   Whitman,   Samuel  Pepys,   and   Villon. 

1882.     Treasure  Island. 

1882.  Neiv  Arabian  Nights. 

A  volume  of  short  stories  containing  among  others  the 
French   stories  mentioned   in  the  Introduction. 

1883.  The  Silverado  Squatters. 
1885.     Prince  Otto. 

The  adventures  of  the  prince  of  an  imaginary  German 
principality. 

1885.     A   Child's  Garden  of  Verses. 

A  very  imaginative  interpretation  of  his  own  child- 
hood, with  reminiscences  of  the  sick-room  in  Edinburgh 
and  of  the  garden  at  Colinton  Manse.  The  dedication 
of  the  volume  to  his  old  nurse  is  one  of  his  best  poems. 

1885.     More  New  Arabian  Nights.     (With  Mrs.  Stevenson.) 
A  volume  of  short  stories. 


Descriptive  Bibliography  xxlx 

1886.     The  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde. 

Conceived  first  as  "  a  bogey  tale,"  then  burnt,  and 
written  again  as  an  allegory  on  the  dual  nature  of 
man,  this  story  won  instant  notoriety  and  has  retained 
its  hold  on  the  popular  imagination. 

1886.     Kidnapped. 

A  romantic  novel  setting  forth  the  adventures  on  land 
and  sea  of  the  young  boy,  David  Balfour,  and  of  his 
friend  Alan  Breck,  a  disguised  Highland  chief.  The 
account  of  the  fight  in  the  roundhouse  is  one  of  the 
best  chapters  in  modern  fiction. 

1886.  The  Merry  Men,  and  Other   Tales. 

A  volume  containing  among  other  short  stories  "  Will 
o'  the  Mill,"  considered  by  many  his  best  story. 

1887.  Underivoods. 

1887.     Memories  and  Portraits. 

1887.  Memoir  of  Fleeming  Jenkin. 

1888.  The  Black  Arro^. 

A  novel  with  a  fifteenth-century  background,  based  on 
the   reading  of   the  Paston  Letters. 

1888.  The  Wrong  Box.      (With  Lloyd  Osbourne.) 

1889.  The  Master  of  Ballantrae. 

"  A  story  of  many  years  and  countries,  of  the  sea  and 
the  land,  savagery  and  civilization,"  is  Stevenson's 
own  characterization  of  the  novel. 

1890.  Ballads. 

1890.     Father  Damien:  An  Open  Letter. 

A  pamphlet  full  of  righteous  indignation  against  a 
Protestant  minister,  Dr.  Hyde,  who  had  attacked  the 
founder  of   the   leper  colony  near   Honolulu. 

1892.     Across  the  Plains,  ivith  Other  Memories  and  Essays. 

The  second  part  of  the  volume  is  a  continuation  of 
Memories  and  Portraits,  with  the  excellent  essays, 
"  Fontainebleau,"  "  The  Lantern-Bearers,"  and  "  Pulvis 
et   Umbra." 

1892.  The  Wrecker.     (With  Lloyd  Osbourn-.) 

1893.  Island  Nights*  Entertainments. 

Three   stories  which   have   the  South   Seas  for   a  back- 
ground ;  the  best  of  them  is  The  Beach  of  Falesd. 
1893.     David  Balfour    (in   England  called    Catriona) . 

In  addition   to  its  interest  as   a   sequel   to  Kidnapped, 


XXX  Descriptive  Bibliography 

the  novel   is  significant   as  containing  Stevenson's  only 
successful  women  characters,  Catriona  and  Miss  Grant. 

1894.  The  Ebb-Tide.      (With  Lloyd  Osbourne.) 

1895.  Later  Essays. 

1895.  Vailima  Letters. 

1896.  Weir  of  Hermiston. 
1896.  In  the  South  Seas. 
1896.  Songs  of  Travel. 

1898.  St.  Ives.     (Completed  by  A.  T.  Qulller-Couch.) 

The    adventures    of    a    French    prisoner    in    England. 
Stevenson  wrote  only  the  first  thirty  chapters. 

1899.  Letters   of  Robert  Louis   Stevenson   to   His   Family   and 

Friends. 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 


Sir  Walter  Grindlay  Simpson 

From  the  Bookman,  August,  i8g8.     By  permission  of 
Dodd,  Mead  &  Company 


PREFACE    TO    FIRST    EDITION 

To  equip  so  small  a  book  with  a  preface  is,  I  am  half 
afraid,  to  sin  against  proportion.  But  a  preface  is  more 
than  an  author  can  resist,  for  it  is  the  reward  of  his  labors. 
When  the  foundation  stone  is  laid,  the  architect  appears 
with  his  plans,  and  struts  for  an  hour  before  the  public  5 
eye.  So  with  the  writer  in  his  preface :  he  may  have  never 
a  word  to  say,  but  he  must  show  himself  a  moment  in  the 
portico,  hat  in  hand,  and  with  an  urbane  demeanor. 

It  is  best,  in  such  circumstances,  to  represent  a  delicate 
shade  of  manner  between  humility  and  superiority:  as  if  10 
the  book  had  been  written  by  some  one  else,  and  you  had 
merely  run  over  it  and  inserted  what  was  good.  But  for 
my  part  I  have  not  yet  learned  the  trick  to  that  perfection ; 
I  am  not  yet  able  to  dissemble  the  warmth  of  my  senti- 
ments towards  a  reader;  and  if  I  meet  him  on  the  15 
threshold,  it  is  to  invite  him  in  with  country  cordiality. 

To  say  truth,  I  had  no  sooner  finished  reading  this  little 
book  in  proof,  than  I  was  seized  upon  by  a  distressing 
apprehension.  It  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  not  only  be 
the  first  to  read  these  pages,  but  the  last  as  well;  that  I  20 
might  have  pioneered  this  very  smiling  tract  of  country  all 
in  vain,  and  find  not  a  soul  to  follow  in  my  steps.  The 
more  I  thought,  the  more  I  disliked  the  notion ;  until  the 
distaste  grew  into  a  sort  of  panic  terror,  and  I  rushed  into 
this  Preface,  which  is  no  more  than  an  advertisement  for  25 
readers. 

What  am  I  to  say  for  my  book?     Caleb  and  Joshua 
brought  back  from  Palestine  a  formidable  bunch  of  grapesj 

3 


/}.  Preface  to  First  Edition 

alas!  my  book  produces  naught  so  nourishing;  and  for  the 
matter  of  that,  we  live  in  an  age  when  people  prefer  a 
definition  to  any  quantity  of  fruit. 

I  wonder,  would  a  negative  be  found  enticing?  for, 
5  from  the  negative  point  of  view,  I  flatter  myself  this 
volume  has  a  certain  stamp.  Although  it  runs  to  consider- 
ably upwards  of  two  hundred  pages,  it  contains  not  a 
single  reference  to  the  imbecility  of  God's  universe,  nor  so 
much  as  a  single  hint  that  I  could  have  made  a  better  one 

1 10  myself. — I  really  do  not  know  where  my  head  can  have 
been.  I  seem  to  have  forgotten  all  that  makes  it  glorious 
to  be  man. — 'Tis  an  omission  that  renders  the  book 
philosophically  unimportant;  but  I  am  in  hopes  the  eccen- 
tricity  may   please    In    frivolous   circles. 

15  To  the  friend  who  accompanied  me,  I  owe  many  thanks 
already,  indeed  I  wish  I  owed  him  nothing  else;  but  at  this 
moment  I  feel  towards  him  an  almost  exaggerated  tender- 
ness. He,  at  least,  will  become  my  reader: — If  It  were 
only  to  follow  his  own  travels  alongside  of  mine. 

R.  L.  S. 


TO 
SIR  WALTER  GRINDLAY  SIMPSON,  BART. 

My  dear  Cigarette, 

It  was  enough  that  you  should  have  shared  so  liberally 
in  the  rains  and  portages  of  our  voyage;  that  you  should 
have  had  so  hard  a  battle  to  recover  the  derelict  Arethusa 
on  the  flooded  Oise;  and  that  you  should  thenceforth  5 
have  piloted  a  mere  wreck  of  mankind  to  Origny  Sainte- 
Benoite  and  a  supper  so  eagerly  desired.  It  was  perhaps 
more  than  enough,  as  you  once  somewhat  piteously  com- 
plained, that  I  should  have  set  down  all  the  strong  lan- 
guage to  you,  and  kept  the  appropriate  reflections  for  my-  10 
self.  I  could  not  in  decency  expose  you  to  share  the 
disgrace  of  another  and  more  public  shipwreck.  But  now 
that  this  voyage  of  ours  is  going  into  a  cheap  edition,  that 
peril,  we  shall  hope,  is  at  an  end,  and  I  may  put  your  name 
on  the  burgee.  15 

But  I  cannot  pause  till  I  have  lamented  the  fate  of  our 
two  ships.  That,  sir,  was  not  a  fortunate  day  when  we 
projected  the  possession  of  a  canal  barge ;  it  was  not  a 
fortunate  day  when  we  shared  our  day-dream  with  the 
most  hopeful  of  day-dreamers.  For  a  while,  indeed,  the  20 
world  looked  smilingly.  The  barge  was  procured  and 
christened,  and  as  the  Eleven  Thousand  Virgins  of 
Cologne,  lay  for  some  months,  the  admired  of  all  admirers, 
in  a  pleasant  river  and  under  the  walls  of  an  ancient  town. 
M.  Mattras,  the  accomplished  carpenter  of  Moret,  had  25 
made  her  a  center  of  emulous  labor;  and  you  will  not 

5 


6      To  Sir  Walter  Grindlay  Simpson,   Bart. 

have  fortrotten  the  amount  of  sweet  champagne  consumed 
in  the  inn  at  the  bridge  end,  to  give  zeal  to  the  workmen 
and  speed  to  the  work.  On  the  financial  aspect,  I  would 
not  willingly  dwell.  The  Eleven  Thousand  Virgins  of 
5  Cologne  rotted  in  the  stream  where  she  was  beatified. 
She  felt  not  the  impulse  of  the  breeze ;  she  was  never 
harnessed  to  the  patient  track-horse.  And  when  at  length 
she  wzs  sold,  by  the  indignant  carpenter  of  Moret,  there 
were  sold  along  with  her  the  Arethusa  and  the  Cigarette, 
10  she  of  cedar,  she,  as  we  knew  so  keenly  on  a  portage,  of 
solid-hearted  English  oak.  Now  these  historic  vessels  fly 
the  tricolor  and  are  known  by  new  and  alien  names. 

R.  L.  S. 


The  Willebroek  Canal 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 


ANTWERP  TO  BOOM 


We  made  a  great  stir  in  the  Antwerp  Docks.  A  steve- 
dore and  a  lot  of  dock  porters  took  up  the  two  canoes,  and 
ran  with  them  for  the  sh'p.  A  crowd  of  children  followed 
cheering.  The  Cigarette  went  off  in  a  splash  and  a  bubble 
of  small  breaking  water.  Next  moment  the  Arethusa  was  s 
after  her.  A  steamer  was  coming  down,  men  on  the 
paddle-box  shouted  hoarse  warnings,  the  stevedore  and  his 
porters  were  bawling  from  the  quay.  But  in  a  stroke  or 
two  the  canoes  were  away  out  in  the  middle  of  the  Scheldt, 
and  all  steamers,  and  stevedores,  and  other  'long-shore  lo 
vanities  were  left  behind. 

The  sun  shone  brightly ;  the  tide  was  making — four 
jolly  miles  an  hour;  the  wind  blew  steadily,  with  occasional 
squalls.  For  my  part,  I  had  never  been  in  a  canoe  under 
sail  in  my  life;  and  my  first  experiment  out  in  the  middle  15 
of  this  big  river  was  not  made  without  some  trepidation. 
What  would  happen  when  the  wind  first  caught  my  little 

7 


8  An  Inland  Voyage 

canvas?  I  suppose  it  was  almost  as  trying  a  venture 
into  the  regions  of  the  unknown  as  to  publish  a  first  book, 
or  to  marry.  But  my  doubts  were  not  of  long  duration  ; 
and  in  five  minutes  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
5  I  had  tied  my  sheet. 

I  own  I  was  a  little  struck  by  this  circumstance  myself; 
of  course,  in  company  with  the  rest  of  my  fellow-men,  I 
had  always  tied  the  sheet  in  a  sailing-boat ;  but  in  so  little 
and  crank  a  concern  as  a  canoe,  and  with  these  charging 

10  squalls,  I  was  not  prepared  to  find  myself  follow  the  same 
principle ;  and  it  inspired  me  with  some  contemptuous 
views  of  our  regard  for  life.  It  is  certainly  easier  to  smoke 
with  the  sheet  fastened;  but  I  had  never  before  weighed 
a  comfortable  pipe  of  tobacco  against  an  obvious  risk,  and 

15  gravely  elected  for  the  comfortable  pipe.  It  is  a  common- 
place, that  we  cannot  answer  for  ourselves  before  we  have 
been  tried.  But  it  is  not  so  common  a  reflection,  and 
surely  more  consoling,  that  we  usually  find  ourselves  a 
great  deal  braver  and  better  than  we  thought.     I  believe 

20  this  is  every  one's  experience :  but  an  apprehension  that 
they  may  belie  themselves  in  the  future  prevents  mankind 
from  trumpeting  this  cheerful  sentiment  abroad.  I  wish 
sincerely,  for  it  would  have  saved  me  much  trouble,  there 
had  been  some  one  to  put  me  in  a  good  heart  about  life 

25  when  I  was  younger ;  to  tell  me  how  dangers  are  most 
portentous  on  a  distant  sight ;  and  how  the  good  in  a  man's 
spirit  will  not  suffer  itself  to  be  overlaid,  and  rarely  or 
never  deserts  him  in  the  hour  of  need.  But  we  are  all  for 
tootling  on  the  sentimental  flute  in  literature;  and  not  a 

30  man  among  us  will  go  to  the  head  of  the  march  to  sound 
the  heady  drums. 

It  was  agreeable  upon  the  river.  A  barge  or  two  went 
past  laden  with  hay.  Reeds  and  willows  bordered  the 
stream;  and  cattle  and  gray  venerable  horses  came  and 


Antwerp  to  Boom  9' 

hung  their  mild  heads  over  the  embankment.  Here  and 
there  was  a  pleasant  village  among  trees,  with  a  noisy 
shipping  yard;  here  and  there  a  villa  in  a  lawn.  The 
wind  served  us  well  up  the  Scheldt  and  thereafter  up  the 
Rupel ;  and  we  were  running  pretty  free  when  we  began  5 
to  sight  the  brickyards  of  Boom,  lying  for  a  long  way  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  river.  The  left  bank  was  still  green 
and  pastoral,  with  alleys  of  trees  along  the  embankment, 
and  here  and  there  a  flight  of  steps  to  serve  a  ferry,  where 
perhaps  there  sat  a  woman  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  10 
or  an  old  gentleman  with  a  staff  and  silver  spectacles. 
But  Boom  and  its  brickyards  grew  smokier  and  shabbiei 
with  every  minute ;  until  a  great  church  with  a  clock,  and 
a  wooden  bridge  over  the  river,  indicated  the  central 
quarters  of  the  town.  15 

Boom  is  not  a  nice  place,  and  is  only  remarkable  for  one 
thing:  that  the  majority  of  the  inhabitants  have  a  private 
I  opinion  that  they  can  speak  English,  which  is  not  justified 
"  by  fact.  This  gave  a  kind  of  haziness  to  our  intercourse. 
As  for  the  Hotel  de  la  Navigation,  I  think  it  is  the  worst  20 
feature  of  the  place.  It  boasts  of  a  sanded  parlor,  with  a 
bar  at  one  end,  looking  on  the  street;  and  another  sanded 
parlor,  darker  and  colder,  with  an  empty  birdcage  and 
a  tricolor  subscription  box  by  way  of  sole  adornment, 
where  we  made  shift  to  dine  in  the  company  of  three  un-  25  ^^ 
communicative  engineer  apprentices  and  a  silent  bagman. 
The  food,  as  usual  in  Belgium,  was  of  a  nondescript  occa- 
sional character ;  indeed  I  have  never  been  able  to  detect 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  meal  among  this  pleasing  peo- 
ple ;  they  seem  to  peck  and  trifle  with  viands  all  day  long  30 
in  an  amateur  spirit:  tentatively  French,  truly  German, 
and  somehow  falling  between  the  two. 

The  empty  birdcage,  swept  and  garnished,  and  with  no 
trace  of  the  old  piping  favorite,  save  where  two  wires  had 


lo  An  Inland  Voyage 

been  pushed  apart  to  hold  its  lump  of  sugar,  carried  with  it 
a  sort  of  graveyard  cheer.  The  engineer  apprentices  would 
have  nothing  to  say  to  us,  nor  indeed  to  the  bagman ; 
but  talked  low  and  sparingly  to  one  another,  or  raked  us  in 
5  the  gaslight  with  a  gleam  of  spectacles.  For  though  hand- 
some lads,  they  were  all  (in  the  Scotch  phrase)  barnacled. 
There  was  an  English  maid  in  the  hotel,  who  had  been 
long  enough  out  of  England  to  pick  up  all  sorts  of  funny 
foreign  idioms,  and  all  sorts  of  curious  foreign  ways,  which 

10  need  not  here  be  specified.  She  spoke  to  us  very  fluently 
in  her  jargon,  asked  us  information  as  to  the  manners  of 
the  present  day  in  England,  and  obligingly  corrected  us 
when  we  attempted  to  answer.  But  as  we  were  dealing 
with  a  woman,  perhaps  our  information  was  not  so  much 

IS  thrown  away  as  it  appeared.  The  sex  likes  to  pick  up 
knowledge  and  yet  preserve  its  superiority.  It  is  good 
policy,  and  almost  necessary  in  the  circumstances.  If  a 
man  finds  a  woman  admires  him,  were  it  only  for  his  ac- 
quaintance with  geography,  he  will  begin  at  once  to  build 

20  upon  the  admiration.  It  is  only  by  unintermittent  snubbing 
that  the  pretty  ones  can  keep  us  in  our  place.  Men,  as 
Miss  Howe  or  Miss  Harlowe  w'ould  have  said,  "  are  such 
encroachers."  For  my  part,  I  am  body  and  soul  with  the 
w^omen ;  and  after  a  well-married  couple,  there  is  nothing 

25  so  beautiful  in  the  world  as  the  myth  of  the  divine  huntress. 

It  is  no  use  for  a  man  to  take  to  the  woods ;  we  know  him ; 

Anthony  tried  the  same  thing  long  ago,  and  had  a  pitiful 

time  of  it  by  all  accounts.     But  there  is  this  about  some 

p-     women,  which  overtops  the  best  g>'mnosophist  among  men, 

30  that  they  suffice  to  themselves,  and  can  walk  in  a  high  and 
cold  zone  without  the  countenance  of  any  trousered  being. 
I  declare,  although  the  reverse  of  a  professed  ascetic,  I  am 
more  obliged  to  women  for  this  ideal  than  I  should  be 
to  the  majority  of  them,  or  indeed  to  any  but  one,  for  a 


Antwerp  to  Boom  ilh 


spontaneous  kiss.  There  is  nothing  so  encouraging  as'thg"' 
spectacle  of  self-sufficiency.  And  when  I  think  of  the  slim 
and  lovely  maidens,  running  the  woods  all  night  to  the 
note  of  Diana's  horn ;  moving  among  the  old  oaks,  as 
fancy-free  as  they ;  things  of  the  forest  and  the  starlight,  5 
not  touched  by  the  commotion  of  man's  hot  and  turbid 
life — although  there  are  plenty  other  ideals  that  I  should 
prefer — I  find  my  heart  beat  at  the  thought  of  this  one. 
'Tis  to  fail  in  life,  but  to  fail  with  what  a  grace !  That  is 
not  lost  which  is  not  regretted.  And  where — here  slips  10 
out  the  male — where  would  be  much  of  the  glory  of  inspir- 
ing love,  if  there  were  no  contempt  to  overcome? 


ON  THE  WILLEBROEK  CANAL 

Next  morning,  when  we  set  forth  on  the  Willebroek 
Canal,  the  rain  began  heavy  and  chill.  The  water  of  the 
canal  stood  at  about  the  drinking  temperature  of  tea;  and 
under  this  cold  aspersion  the  surface  was  covered  with 
5  steam.  The  exhilaration  of  departure,  and  the  easy  motion 
of  the  boats  under  each  stroke  of  the  paddles,  supported 
us  through  this  misfortune  while  it  lasted ;  and  when 
the  cloud  passed  and  the  sun  came  out  again,  our  spirits 
went  up  above  the  range  of  stay-at-home  humors.    A  good 

10  breeze  rustled  and  shivered  in  the  rows  of  trees  that 
bordered  the  canal.  The  leaves  flickered  in  and  out  of  the 
light  in  tumultuous  masses.  It  seemed  sailing  weather  to 
eye  and  ear ;  but  down  between  the  banks,  the  wind 
reached  us  only  in  faint  and  desultory  puffs.     There  was 

15  hardly  enough  to  steer  by.  Progress  was  intermittent  and 
unsatisfactory.  A  jocular  person,  of  marine  antecedents, 
hailed  us  from  the  tow-path  with  a  "  C'est  vite,  mais  c'est 
long." 

The  canal  was  busy  enough.     Every  now  and  then  we 

20  met  or  overtook  a  long  string  of  boats,  with  great  green 
tillers;  high  sterns  with  a  window  on  either  side  of  the 
rudder,  and  perhaps  a  jug  or  a  flower-pot  in  one  of  the 
windows ;  a  dingy  following  behind  ;  a  woman  busied  about 
the  day's  dinner,  and  a  handful  of  children.    These  barges 

25  were  all  tied  one  behind  the  other  with  tow  ropes,  to  the 
number  of  twenty-five  or  thirty;  and  the  line  was  headed 
and  kept  in  motion  by  a  steamer  of  strange  construction. 
It  had  neither  paddle-wheel  nor  screw;  but  by  some  gear 


On  the  Wlllebroek  Canal  13 

not  rightly  comprehensible  to  the  unmechanical  mind,  it 
fetched  up  over  its  bow  a  small  bright  chain  which  lay 
along  the  bottom  of  the  canal,  and  paying  it  out  again  over 
the  stern,  dragged  itself  forward,  link  by  link,  with  its 
whole  retinue  of  loaded  scows.  Until  one  had  found  out  5 
the  key  to  the  enigma,  there  was  something  solemn  and  un- 
comfortable in  the  progress  of  one  of  these  trains,  as  it 
moved  gently  along  the  water  with  nothing  to  mark  its 
advance  but  an  eddy  alongside  dying  away  into  the  wake. 

Of  all  the  creatures  of  commercial  enterprise,  a  canal  10 
barge  is  by  far  the  most  delightful  to  consider.     It  may 
spread  its  sails,  and  then  you  see  it  sailing  high  above  the 
tree-tops  and  the  wind-mill,  sailing  on  the  aqueduct,  sail- 
ing through  the  green  cornlands:  the  most  picturesque  of  ^*^  '^< 
things  amphibious.     Or  the  horse  plods  along  at  a  foot-  15*^  ^ 
pace  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  business  in  the  world  ; 
and  the  man  dreaming  at  the  tiller  sees  the  same  spire 
on  the  horizon  all  day  long.     It  is  a  mystery  how  things 
ever  get  to  their  destination  at  this  rate;  and  to  see  the 
barges  waiting  their  turn  at  a  lock,  affords  a  fine  lesson  of  20 
how  easily  the  world  may  be  taken.    There  should  be  many 
contented  spirits  on  board,  for  such  a  life  is  both  to  travel 
and  to  stay  at  home. 

The  chimney  smokes  for  dinner  as  you  go  along;  the 
banks  of  the  canal  slowly  unroll  their  scenery  to  con-  25 
templative  eyes;  the  barge  floats  by  great  forests  and 
through  great  cities  with  their  public  buildings  and  their 
lamps  at  night;  and  for  the  bargee,  in  his  floating  home, 
"  traveling  abed,"  it  is  merely  as  if  he  were  listening  to  an- 
other man's  story  or  turning  the  leaves  of  a  picture  book  in  30 
which  he  had  no  concern.  He  may  take  his  afternoon 
walk  in  some  foreign  country  on  the  banks  of  the  canal, 
and  then  come  home  to  dinner  at  his  own  fireside. 

There  is  not  enough  exercise  in  such  a  life  for  any  high 


14  An  Inland  Voyage 

measure  of  health ;  but  a  high  measure  of  health  Is  only 
necessary  for  unhealthy  people.  The  slug  of  a  fellow, 
who  is  never  ill  nor  well,  has  a  quiet  time  of  it  in  life,  and 
dies  all  the  easier. 
5  I  am  sure  I  would  rather  be  a  bargee  than  occupy  any 
position  under  Heaven  that  required  attendance  at  an 
office.  There  are  few  callings,  I  should  say,  where  a  man 
gives  up  less  of  his  liberty  in  return  for  regular  meals.  The 
bargee  is  on  shipboard — he  is  master  in  his  own  ship — 

10  he  can  land  whenever  he  will — he  can  never  be  kept  beat- 
ing off  a  lee-shore  a  whole  frosty  night  when  the  sheets 
are  as  hard  as  iron ;  and  so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  time 
stands  as  nearly  still  with  him  as  is  compatible  with  the 
return  of  bed-time  or  the  dinner-hour.     It  is  not  easy  to 

15  see  why  a  bargee  should  ever  die. 

Half-way  between  Willebroek  and  Villevorde,  in  a  beau- 
tiful reach  of  canal  like  a  squire's  avenue,  we  went  ashore 
to  lunch.  There  were  two  eggs,  a  junk  of  bread,  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  on  board  the  Arethusa;  and  two  eggs  and 

20  an  Etna  cooking  apparatus  on  board  the  Cigarette.  The 
master  of  the  latter  boat  smashed  one  of  the  eggs  in  the 
course  of  disembarkation ;  but  observing  pleasantly  that 
it  might  still  be  cooked  a  la  papier,  he  dropped  it  into  the 
Etna,  in  its  covering  of  Flemish  newspaper.     We  landed 

25  in  a  blink  of  fine  weather ;  but  w^e  had  not  been  two 
minutes  ashore,  before  the  wind  freshened  into  half  a  gale, 
and  the  rain  began  to  patter  on  our  shoulders.  We  sat  as 
close  about  the  Etna  as  we  could.  The  spirits  burned  with 
great  ostentation ;  the  grass  caught  flame  every  minute  or 

30  two,  and  had  to  be  trodden  out ;  and  before  long,  there 
were  several  burnt  fingers  of  the  party.  But  the  solid 
quantity  of  cookery  accomplished,  was  out  of  proportion 
with  so  much  display;  and  when  we  desisted,  after  two 
applications  of  the  fire,  the  sound  egg  was  little  more  than 


On  the  Willebroek  Canal  15 

loo-warm ;  and  as  for  a  la  papier,  it  was  a  cold  and  sordid 
fricassee  of  printer's  ink  and  broken  egg-shell.  We  made 
shift  to  roast  the  other  two,  by  putting  them  close  to  the 
burning  spirits;  and  that  with  better  success.  And  then 
we  uncorked  the  bottle  of  wine,  and  sat  down  in  a  ditch  5 
with  our  canoe  aprons  over  our  knees.  It  rained  smartly. 
Discomfort,  when  it  is  honestly  uncomfortable  and  makes 
no  nauseous  pretensions  to  the  contrary,  is  a  vastly  humor- 
ous business;  and  people  well  steeped  and  stupefied  in  the 
open  air  are  in  a  good  vein  for  laughter.  From  this  point  10 
of  view,  even  egg  a  la  papier  offered  by  way  of  food,  may 
pass  muster  as  a  sort  of  accessory  to  the  fun.  But  this 
manner  of  jest,  although  it  may  be  taken  in  good  part, 
does  not  invite  repetition :  and  from  that  time  forward, 
the  Etna  voyaged  like  a  gentleman  in  the  locker  of  the  15 
Cigarette. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  mention  that  when  lunch 
was  over  and  we  got  aboard  again  and  made  sail,  the  wind 
promptly  died  away.  The  rest  of  the  journey  to  Ville- 
vorde,  we  still  spread  our  canvas  to  the  unfavoring  air;  20 
and  with  now  and  then  a  puff,  and  now  and  then  a  spell 
of  paddling,  drifted  along  from  lock  to  lock,  between  the 
orderly  trees. 

It  was  a  fine,  green,  fat  landscape ;  or  rather  a  mere 
green  water-lane,  going  on  from  village  to  village.  Things  25 
had  a  settled  look,  as  in  places  long  lived  in.  Crop-headed 
children  spat  upon  us  from  the  bridges  as  we  went  below, 
with  a  true  conservative  feeling.  But  even  more  con- 
servative were  the  fishermen,  intent  upon  their  floats,  who 
let  us  go  by  without  one  glance.  They  perched  upon  ster-  30 
lings  and  buttresses  and  along  the  slope  of  the  embank- 
ment, gently  occupied.  They  were  indifferent  like  pieces  of 
dead  nature.  They  did  not  move  any  more  than  if  they 
had  been  fishing  in  an  old  Dutch  print.    The  leaves  flut- 


1 6  An  Inland  Voyage 

tered,  the  water  lapped,  but  they  continued  in  one  stay 
like  so  many  churches  established  by  law.  You  might  have 
trepanned  every  one  of  their  innocent  heads,  and  found 
no  more  than  so  much  coiled  fishing  line  below  their 
5  skulls.  I  do  not  care  for  your  stalwart  fellows  in  india- 
rubber  stockings  breasting  up  mountain  torrents  with  a 
salmon  rod ;  but  I  do  dearly  love  the  class  of  man  who 
plies  his  unfruitful  art,  for  ever  and  a  day,  by  still  and 
depopulated  waters. 

10  At  the  last  lock  just  beyond  Villevorde,  there  was  a  lock 
mistress  who  spoke  French  comprehensibly,  and  told  us  we 
were  still  a  couple  of  leagues  from  Brussels.  At  the  same 
place,  the  rain  began  again.  It  fell  in  straight,  parallel 
lines;  and  the  surface  of  the  canal  was  thrown  up  into  an 

15  infinity  of  little  crjstal  fountains.  There  were  no  beds  to 
be  had  in  the  neighborhood.  Nothing  for  it  but  to  lay 
the  sails  aside  and  address  ourselves  to  steady  paddling  in 
the  rain. 

Beautiful  country  houses,  with  clocks  and  long  lines  of 

2.0  shuttered  windows,  and  fine  old  trees  standing  in  groves 
and  avenues,  gave  a  rich  and  somber  aspect  in  the  rain  and 
the  deepening  dusk  to  the  shores  of  the  canal.  I  seem  to 
have  seen  something  of  the  same  effect  in  engravings: 
opulent  landscapes,  deserted  and  overhung  w'ith  the  passage 

25  of  storm.  And  throughout  we  had  the  escort  of  a  hooded 
cart,  which  trotted  shabbily  along  the  tow-path,  and  kept 
at  an  almost  uniform  distance  in  our  wake. 


THE  ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTIQUE 

The  rain  took  off  near  Laeken.  But  the  sun  was  already 
down;  the  air  was  chill;  and  we  had  scarcely  a  dry  stitch 
between  the  pair  of  us.  Nay,  now  we  found  ourselves 
near  the  end  of  the  Allee  Verte,  and  on  the  very  threshold 
of  Brussels  we  were  confronted  by  a  serious  difficulty.  5 
The  shores  were  closely  lined  by  canal  boats  waiting  their 
turn  at  the  lock.  Nowhere  was  there  any  convenient  land- 
ing-place; nowhere  so  much  as  a  stable-yard  to  leave  the 
canoes  in  for  the  night.  We  scrambled  ashore  and  entered 
an  estaminet  where  some  sorry  fellows  were  drinking  10 
with  the  landlord.  The  landlord  was  pretty  round  with 
us;  he  knew  of  no  coach-house  or  stable-yard,  nothing  of 
the  sort ;  and  seeing  we  had  come  with  no  mind  to  drink, 
he  did  not  conceal  his  impatience  to  be  rid  of  us.  One  of 
the  sorry  fellows  came  to  the  rescue.  Somewhere  in  the  15 
corner  of  the  basin  there  was  a  slip,  he  informed  us,  and 
something  else  besides,  not  very  clearly  defined  by  him, 
but  hopefully  construed  by  his  hearers. 

Sure  enough  there  was  the  slip  in  the  corner  of  the  basin ; 
and  at  the  top  of  it  two  nice-looking  lads  in  boating  20 
clothes.  The /^rf//iw^<7  addressed  himself  to  these.  One  of 
them  said  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  a  night's 
lodging  for  our  boats;  and  the  other,  taking  a  cigarette 
from  his  lips,  inquired  if  they  were  made  by  Searle  &  Son. 
The  name  was  quite  an  introduction.  Half-a-dozen  other  25 
young  men  came  out  of  a  boat-house  bearing  the  super- 
scription "  Royal  Sport  Nautique,"  and  joined  in  the  talk. 
They   were    all    very    polite,    voluble,    and    enthusiastic; 

17 


1 8  An  Inland  Voyage 

and  their  discourse  was  interlarded  with  Enph'sh  boating 
terms,  and  the  names  of  English  boat-builders  and  English 
clubs.  I  do  not  know,  to  my  shame,  any  spot  in  my  native 
land  where  I  should  have  been  so  warmly  received  by  the 
5  same  number  of  people.  We  were  English  boating-men, 
and  the  Belgian  boating-men  fell  upon  our  necks.  I  won- 
der if  French  Huguenots  were  as  cordially  greeted  by 
English  Protestants  when  they  came  across  the  Channel 
out  of  great  tribulation.  But  after  all,  what  religion  knits 
10  people  so  closely  as  a  common  sport? 

The  canoes  were  carried  into  the  boat-house;  they  were 
washed  down  for  us  by  the  Club  servants,  the  sails  were 
hung  out  to  dry,  and  everything  made  as  snug  and  tidy  as 
a  picture.  And  in  the  meanwhile  we  were  led  upstairs  by 
15  our  new-found  brethren,  for  so  more  than  one  of  them 
stated  the  relationship,  and  made  free  of  their  lavatory. 
This  one  lent  us  soap,  that  one  a  towel,  a  third  and  fourth 
helped  us  to  undo  our  bags.  And  all  the  time  such  ques- 
tions, such  assurances  of  respect  and  sympathy !  I  declare 
20  I  never  knew  what  glory  was  before. 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  Royal  Sport  Nautique  is  the  oldest  club 
in  Belgium." 

"  We  number  two  hundred." 

"We" — this  is  not  a  substantive  speech,  but  an  ab- 
25  stract  of  many  speeches,  the  impression  left  upon  my  mind 
after  a  great  deal  of  talk;  and  verj^  youthful,  pleasant, 
natural  and  patriotic  it  seems  to  me  to  be — "  We  have 
gained  all  races,  except  those  w'here  we  were  cheated  by 
the  French." 
30      "  You  must  leave  all  your  wet  things  to  be  dried." 

"O!  entre  freres!     In  any  boat-house  in  England  we 
should  find  the  same."     (I  cordially  "hope  they  might.) 

"En  Angleterre,  vous  employes  des  sliding-seats  nest-ce 
pas?" 


The  Royal  Sport  Nautique  19 

"  We  are  all  emploj'ed  in  commerce  during  the  day ;  but 
in  the  evening,  voyez  vous,  nous  sommes  serieux." 

These  were  the  words.  They  were  all  employed  over 
the  frivolous  mercantile  concerns  of  Belgium  during  the 
day;  but  in  the  evening  they  found  some  hours  for  the  5 
serious  concerns  of  life.  I  may  have  a  wrong  idea  of  wis- 
dom, but  I  think  that  was  a  very  wise  remark.  People 
connected  with  literature  and  philosophy  are  busy  all  their 
days  in  getting  rid  of  second-hand  notions  and  false  stand- 
ards. It  is  their  profession,  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows,  10 
by  dogged  thinking,  to  recover  their  old  fresh  view  of  life, 
and  distinguish  what  they  really  and  originally  like,  from 
what  they  have  only  learned  to  tolerate  perforce.  And 
these  Royal  Nautical  Sportsmen  had  the  distinction  still 
quite  legible  in  their  hearts.  They  had  still  those  clean  15 
perceptions  of  what  is  nice  and  nasty,  what  is  interesting 
and  what  is  dull,  which  envious  old  gentlemen  refer  to  as 
illusions.  The  nightmare  illusion  of  middle  age,  the  bear's 
hug  of  custom  gradually  squeezing  the  life  out  of  a  man's 
soul,  had  not  yet  begun  for  these  happy-star'd  young  Bel-  20 
gians.  They  still  knew  that  the  interest  they  took  in 
their  business  was  a  trifling  affair  compared  to  their  spon- 
taneous, long-suffering  affection  for  nautical  sports.  To 
know  what  you  prefer,  instead  of  humbly  saying  Amen  to 
what  the  world  tells  you  you  ought  to  prefer,  is  to  have  25 
kept  your  soul  alive.  Such  a  man  may  be  generous;  he 
may  be  honest  in  something  more  than  the  commercial 
sense;  he  may  love  his  friends  with  an  elective,  personal 
sympathy,  and  not  accept  them  as  an  adjunct  of  the  sta- 
tion to  which  he  has  been  called.  He  may  be  a  man,  in  30 
short,  acting  on  his  own  instincts,  keeping  in  his  own 
shape  that  God  made  him  in  ;  and  not  a  mere  crank  in 
the  social  engine  house,  welded  on  principles  that  he  does 
pot  understand,  and  for  purposes  that  he  does  not  care  for. 


20  An  Inland  Voyage 

For  will  any  one  dare  to  tell  me  that  business  is  more 
entertaining  than  fooling  among  boats?  He  must  have 
never  seen  a  boat,  or  never  seen  an  office,  who  says  so. 
And  for  certain  the  one  is  a  great  deal  better  for  the  health. 
5  There  should  be  nothing  so  much  a  man's  business  as  his 
amusements.  Nothing  but  money-grubbing  can  be  put 
forward  to  the  contrary;  no  one  but 

Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  Heaven, 

ID  durst  risk  a  word  in  answer.  It  is  but  a  lying  cant  that 
would  represent  the  merchant  and  the  banker  as  people 
disinterestedly  toiling  for  mankind,  and  then  most  useful 
when  they  are  most  absorbed  in  their  transactions;  for 
the  man  is  more  important  than  his  services.     And  when 

IS  my  Royal  Nautical  Sportsman  shall  have  so  far  fallen  from 
his  hopeful  youth  that  he  cannot  pluck  up  an  enthusiasm 
over  anything  but  his  ledger,  I  venture  to  doubt  whether 
he  will  be  near  so  nice  a  fellow,  and  whether  he  would  wel- 
come, with  so  good  a  grace,  a  couple  of  drenched  English- 

20  men  paddling  into  Brussels  in  the  dusk. 

When  we  hrd  changed  our  wet  clothes  and  drunk  a  glass 
of  pale  ale  to  the  Club's  prosperity,  one  of  their  number 
escorted  us  to  a  hotel.  He  would  not  join  us  at  our  din- 
ner, but  he  had  no  objection  to  a  glass  of  wine.     Enthusi- 

25  asm  is  very  wearing ;  and  I  begin  to  understand  why 
prophets  were  unpopular  in  Judaea,  where  they  were  best 
known.  For  three  stricken  hours  did  this  excellent  young 
man  sit  beside  us  to  dilate  on  boats  and  boat-races ;  and 
before  he  left,  he  was  kind  enough  to  order  our  bed-room 

30  candles. 

We  endeavored  now  and  again  to  change  the  subject; 
but  the  diversion  did  not  last  a  moment:  the  Royal 
Nautical  Sportsman  bridled,  shied,  answered  the  question. 


The  Royal  Sport  Nautlque  21 

and  then  breasted  once  more  into  the  swelling  tide  of  his 
subject.  I  call  it  his  subject;  but  I  think  it  was  he  who 
was  subjected.  The  Arethusa,  who  holds  all  racing  as  a 
creature  af  the  devil,  found  himself  in  a  pitiful  dilemma. 
He  durst  not  own  his  ignorance  for  the  honor  of  Old  5 
England,  and  spoke  away  about  English  clubs  and  Eng- 
lish oarsmen  whose  fame  had  never  before  come  to  his 
ears.  Several  times,  and,  once  above  all,  on  the  question 
of  sliding-seats,  he  was  within  an  ace  of  exposure.  As 
for  the  Cigarette^  who  has  rowed  races  in  the  heat  of  his  10 
blood,  but  now  disowns  these  slips  of  his  wanton  youth, 
his  case  was  still  more  desperate;  for  the  Royal  Nautical 
proposed  that  he  should  take  an  oar  in  one  of  their  eights 
on  the  morrow,  to  compare  the  English  with  the  Belgian 
stroke.  I  could  see  my  friend  perspiring  in  his  chair  15 
whenever  that  particular  topic  came  up.  And  there  was 
yet  another  proposal  which  had  the  same  effect  on  both  of 
us.  It  appeared  that  the  champion  canoeist  of  Europe 
(as  well  as  most  other  champions)  was  a  Royal  Nautical 
Sportsman.  And  if  we  would  only  wait  until  the  Sunday,  20 
this  infernal  paddler  would  be  so  condescending  as  to 
accompany  us  on  our  next  stage.  Neither  of  us  had 
the  least  desire  to  drive  the  coursers  of  the  sun  against 
Apollo. 

When  the  young  man  was  gone,  we  countermanded  our  25 
candles,  and  ordered  some  brandy  and  water.  The  great 
billows  had  gone  over  our  head.  The  Royal  Nautical 
Sportsmen  were  as  nice  young  fellows  as  a  man  would  wish 
to  see,  but  they  were  a  trifle  too  young  and  a  thought  too 
nautical  for  us.  We  began  to  see  that  we  were  old  and  30 
cynical;  we  liked  ease  and  the  agreeable  rambling  of  the 
human  mind  about  this  and  the  other  subject;  we  did  not 
want  to  disgrace  our  native  land  by  messing  at  eight, 
or  toiling  pitifully  in  the  wake  of  the  champion  canoeist. 


2  2  An  Inland  Voyage 

In  short,  we  had  recourse  to  flight.  It  seemed  ungrateful, 
but  we  tried  to  make  that  good  on  a  card  loaded  with 
sincere  compliments.  And  indeed  it  was  no  time  for 
scruples;  we  seemed  to  feel  the  hot  breath  of  the  champion 
5  on  our  necks. 


AT  MAUBEUGE 

Partly  from  the  terror  we  had  of  our  good  friends  the 
Royal  Nauticals,  partly  from  the  fact  that  there  were  no 
fewer  than  fifty-five  locks  between  Brussels  and  Charleroi, 
we  concluded  that  we  should  travel  by  train  across  the 
frontier,  boats  and  all.  Fifty-five  locks  in  a  day's  journey  5 
was  pretty  well  tantamount  to  trudging  the  whole  distance 
on  foot,  with  the  canoes  upon  our  shoulders,  an  object  of 
astonishment  to  the  trees  on  the  canal  side,  and  of  honest 
derision   to   all   right-thinking  children. 

To  pass  the  frontier,  even  in  a  train,  is  a  difficult  matter  10 
for  the  Arethusa.    He  is,  somehow  or  other,  a  marked  man 
for  the  official  eye.     Wherever  he  journeys,  there  are  the 
officers  gathered  together.     Treaties  are  solemnly  signed, 
foreign  ministers,  ambassadors,  and  consuls  sit  throned  in 
state  from  China  to  Peru,  and  the  Union  Jack  flutters  on  15 
all  the  winds  of  heaven.     Under  these  safeguards,  portly 
clergymen,  schoolmistresses,  gentlemen  in  gray  tweed  suits, 
and  all  the  ruck  and  rabble  of  British  touristry  pour  un- 
hindered, Murray  in  hand,  over  the  railways  of  the  con- 
tinent, and  yet  the  slim  person  of  the  Arethusa  is  taken  20 
in   the  meshes,   while   these   great   fish   go  on   their  way 
rejoicing.     If  he  travels  without  a  passport,   he  is  cast, 
without  any  figure  about  the  matter,  into  noisome  dun- 
geons: if  his  papers  are  in  order,  he  is  suffered  to  go  his 
way  indeed,   but  not  until  he  has  been   humiliated   by  a  25 
general  incredulity.     He  is  a  born  British  subject,  yet  he 
has  never  succeeded  in  persuading  a  single  official  of  his 
nationality.     He  flatters  himself  he  is  indifferent  honest; 

23 


24  An  Inland  Voyage 

yet  he  is  rarely  taken  for  anything  better  than  a  spy,  and 
there  is  no  absurd  and  disreputable  means  of  livelihood, 
but  has  been  attributed  to  him  in  some  heat  of  official  or 
popular  distrust.  .  .  . 
5  For  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  understand  it.  I  too  have 
been  knolled  to  church,  and  sat  at  good  men's  feasts;  but 
I  bear  no  mark  of  it.  I  am  as  strange  as  a  Jack  Indian 
to  their  official  spectacles.  I  might  come  from  any  part 
of  the  globe,  it  seems,  except  from  where  I  do.  My  an- 
10  cestors  have  labored  in  vain,  and  the  glorious  Constitution 
cannot  protect  me  in  my  walks  abroad.  It  is  a  great  thing, 
believe  me,  to  present  a  good  normal  type  of  the  nation  you 
belong  to. 

Nobody  else  was  asked  for  his  papers  on  the  way  to 

15  Maubeuge;  but  I  was;  and  although  I  clung  to  my  rights, 

I  had  to  choose  at  last  between  accepting  the  humiliation 

and  being  left  behind  by  the  train.     I  was  sorry  to  give 

way;  but  I  wanted  to  get  to  Maubeuge. 

Maubeuge  is  a  fortified  town,  with  a  very  good  inn,  the 
20  Grand  Cerf.  It  seemed  to  be  inhabited  principally  by 
soldiers  and  bagmen ;  at  least,  these  were  all  that  we  saw, 
except  the  hotel  servants.  We  had  to  stay  there  some 
time,  for  the  canoes  were  in  no  hurry  to  follow  us,  and  at 
last  stuck  hopelessly  in  the  custom-house  until  we  went 
25  back  to  liberate  them.  There  was  nothing  to  do,  nothing 
to  see.  We  had  good  meals,  which  was  a  great  matter; 
but  that  was  all. 

The  Cigarette  was  nearly  taken  up  upon  a  charge  of 
drawing  the  fortifications:  a  feat  of  which  he  was  hope- 
30  lessly  incapable.  And  besides,  as  I  suppose  each  belligerent 
nation  has  a  plan  of  the  other's  fortified  places  already, 
these  precautions  are  of  the  nature  of  shutting  the  stable 
door  after  the  steed  is  away.  But  I  have  no  doubt  they 
help  to  keep  up  a  good  spirit  at  home.    It  is  a  great  thing 


At  Maubeuge  25 

if  you  can  persuade  people  that  they  are  somehow  or 
other  partakers  in  a  mystery.  It  makes  them  feel  bigger. 
Even  the  Freemasons,  who  have  been  shown  up  to  satiety, 
preserve  a  kind  of  pride;  and  not  a  grocer  among  them, 
however  honest,  harmless,  and  empty-headed  he  may  feel  5 
himself  to  be  at  bottom,  but  comes  home  from  one  of  their 
ccenacula  with  a  portentous  significance  for  himself. 

It  is  an  odd  thing,  how  happily  two  people,  if  there  are 
two,  can  live  in  a  place  where  they  have  no  acquaintance. 
I  think  the  spectacle  of  a  whole  life  in  which  you  have  10 
no  part,  paralyzes  personal  desire.  .  You  are  content  to 
become  a  mere  spectator.  The  baker  stands  in  his  door; 
the  colonel  with  his  three  medals  goes  by  to  the  cafe  at 
night ;  the  troops  drum  and  trumpet  and  man  the  ramparts 
as  bold  as  so  many  lions.  It  would  task  language  to  say  15 
how  placidly  you  behold  all  this.  In  a  place  where  you 
have  taken  some  root,  you  are  provoked  out  of  your  in- 
difference; you  have  a  hand  in  the  game;  your  friends  are 
fighting  with  the  army.  But  in  a  strange  town,  not  small 
enough  to  grow  too  soon  familiar,  nor  so  large  as  to  have  20 
laid  itself  out  for  travelers,  you  stand  so  far  apart  from  the 
business,  that  you  positively  forget  it  would  be  possible 
to  go  nearer;  you  have  so  little  human  interest  around  you, 
that  you  do  not  remember  yourself  to  be  a  man.  Perhaps, 
in  a  very  short  time,  you  would  be  one  no  longer.  Gym-  25 
nosophists  go  into  a  wood,  with  all  nature  seething  around 
them,  with  romance  on  every  side;  it  would  be  much  more 
to  the  purpose,  if  they  took  up  their  abode  in  a  dull  coun- 
try town,  where  they  should  see  just  so  much  of  humanity 
as  to  keep  them  from  desiring  more,  and  only  the  stale  ex-  30 
ternals  of  man's  life.  These  externals  are  as  dead  to  us 
as  so  many  formalities,  and  speak  a  dead  language  in  our 
eyes  and  ears.  They  have  no  more  meaning  than  an  oath 
or  a  salutation.    We  are  so  much  accustomed  to  see  mar- 


26  An  Inland  Voyage 

ried  couples  going  to  church  of  a  Sunday  that  we  have 
clean  forgotten  M-hat  they  represent;  and  novelists  are 
driven  to  rehabilitate  adultery,  no  less,  when  they  wish  to 
show  us  what  a  beautiful  thing  it  is  for  a  man  and  a 
5  woman  to  live  for  each  other. 
,^—  -  One  person  in  Maubeuge,  however,  showed  me  some- 
thing more  than  his  outside.  That  was  the  driver  of  the 
hotel  omnibus:  a  mean  enough  looking  little  man,  as  well 
as  I  can  remember;  but  with  a  spark  of  something  human 

10  in  his  soul.  He  had  heard  of  our  little  journey,  and  came 
to  me  at  once  in  envious  sympathy.  How  he  longed  to 
travel !  he  told  me.  How  he  longed  to  be  somewhere  else, 
and  see  the  round  world  before  he  went  into  the  grave! 
"  Here  I  am,"  said  he.     "  I  drive  to  the  station.     Well. 

15  And  then  I  drive  back  again  to  the  hotel.  And  so  on  every 
day  and  all  the  week  round.  My  God,  is  that  life?"  I 
could  not  say  I  thought  it  was — for  him.  He  pressed  me 
to  tell  him  where  I  had  been,  and  where  I  hoped  to  go; 
and  as  he  listened,  I  declare  the  fellow  sighed.    Might  not 

20  this  have  been  a  brave  African  traveler,  or  gone  to  the 
Indies  after  Drake?  But  it  is  an  evil  age  for  the  gipsily 
inclined  among  men.  He  who  can  sit  squarest  on  a  three- 
legged  stool,  he  it  is  who  has  the  wealth  and  glory. 

I  wonder  if  my  friend  is  still  driving  the  omnibus  for 

25  the  Grand  Cerf?  Not  very  likely,  I  believe ;  for  I  think 
he  was  on  the  eve  of  mutiny  when  we  passed  through,  and 
perhaps  our  passage  determined  him  for  good.  Better  a 
thousand  times  that  he  should  be  a  tramp,  and  mend  pots 
and  pans  by  the  wayside,  and  sleep  under  trees,  and  see  the 

30  dawn  and  the  sunset  every  day  above  a  new  horizon.  I 
think  I  hear  you  say  that  it  is  a  respectable  position  to 
drive  an  omnibus?  Very  well.  What  right  has  he  who 
likes  it  not,  to  keep  those  who  would  like  it  dearly  out  of 
this  respectable  position?    Suppose  a  dish  were  not  to  my 


At  Maubeuge  27 

taste,  and  you  told  me  that  it  was  a  favorite  among  the 
rest  of  the  company,  what  should  I  conclude  from  that? 
Not  to  finish  the  dish  against  my  stomach,  I  suppose. 

Respectability  is  a  very  good  thing  in  its  way,  but  it 
does  not  rise  superior  to  all  considerations.  I  would  not  5 
for  a  moment  venture  to  hint  that  it  was  a  matter  of  taste ; 
but  I  think  I  will  go  as  far  as  this:  that  if  a  position 
is  admittedly  unkind,  uncomfortable,  unnecessary,  and 
superfluously  useless,  although  it  were  as  respectable  as  the 
Church  of  England,  the  sooner  a  man  is  out  of  it,  the  better  10 
for  himself  and  all  concerned. 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED:  TO  QUARTES 

About  three  in  the  afternoon  the  whole  establishment 
of  the  Grand  Cerf  accompanied  us  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  man  of  the  omnibus  was  there  with  haggard  eyes. 
Poor  cagebird !  Do  I  not  remember  the  time  when  I  my- 
5  self  haunted  the  station,  to  watch  train  after  train  carry 
its  complement  of  freemen  into  the  night,  and  read  the 
names  of  distant  places  on  the  time-bills  with  indescribable 
longings  ? 

We  were  not  clear  of  the  fortifications  before  the  rain 

10  began.  The  wind  was  contrary,  and  blew  in  furious  gusts ; 
nor  were  the  aspects  of  nature  any  more  clement  than  the 
doings  of  the  sky.  For  we  passed  through  a  stretch  of 
blighted  country,  sparsely  covered  with  brush,  but  hand- 
somely  enough   diversified   with   factory  chimneys.     We 

15  landed  in  a  soiled  meadow  among  some  pollards,  and  there 
smoked  a  pipe  in  a  flaw  of  fair  weather.  But  the  wind 
blew  so  hard,  we  could  get  little  else  to  smoke.  There 
were  no  natural  objects  in  the  neighborhood,  but  some 
sordid  workshops.     A  group  of  children  headed  by  a  tall 

20  girl  stood  and  watched  us  from  a  little  distance  all  the 
time  we  stayed.  I  heartily  wonder  what  they  thought  of 
us. 

At  Hautmont,  the  lock  was  almost  impassable ;  the  land- 
ing place  being  steep  and  high,  and  the  launch  at  a  long 

25  distance.  Near  a  dozen  grimy  workmen  lent  us  a  hand. 
They  refused  any  reward ;  and,  what  is  much  better,  re- 
fused it  handsomely,  without  conveying  any  sense  of  insult. 
"  It  is  a  way  we   have   in   our  countryside,"   said   they. 

28 


On  the  Sambre  Canalized:   to  Quartes      29 

And  a  very  becoming  way  it  is.  In  Scotland,  where  also 
you  will  get  services  for  nothing,  the  good  people  reject 
your  money  as  if  you  had  been  trying  to  corrupt  a  voter. 
When  people  take  the  trouble  to  do  dignified  acts,  it  is 
worth  while  to  take  a  little  more,  and  allow  the  dignity  5 
to  be  common  to  all  concerned.  But  in  our  brave  Saxon 
countries,  where  we  plod  threescore  years  and  ten  in  the 
mud,  and  the  wind  keeps  singing  in  our  ears  from  birth  to 
burial,  we  do  our  good  and  bad  with  a  high  hand  and 
almost  offensively;  and  make  even  our  alms  a  witness-  10 
bearing  and  an  act  of  war  against  the  wrong. 

After  Hautmont,  the  sun  came  forth  again  and  the  wind 
went  down ;  and  a  little  paddling  took  us  beyond  the  iron- 
works and  through  a  delectable  land.  The  river  wound 
among  low  hills,  so  that  sometimes  the  sun  was  at  our  15 
backs,  and  sometimes  it  stood  right  ahead,  and  the  river 
before  us  was  one  sheet  of  intolerable  glory.  On  either 
hand,  meadows  and  orchards  bordered,  with  a  margin  of 
sedge  and  water  flowers,  upon  the  river.  The  hedges  were 
of  great  height,  woven  about  the  trunks  of  hedgerow  elms;  20 
and  the  fields,  as  they  were  often  very  small,  looked  like  a 
series  of  bowers  along  the  stream.  There  was  never  any 
prospect;  sometimes  a  hill-top  with  its  trees  would  look 
over  the  nearest  hedgerow,  just  to  make  a  middle  distance 
for  the  sky;  but  that  was  all.  The  heaven  was  bare  of  25 
clouds.  The  atmosphere,  after  the  rain,  was  ©f  enchanting 
purity.  The  river  doubled  among  the  hillocks,  a  shining 
strip  of  mirror  glass;  and  the  dip  of  the  paddles  set  the 
flowers  shaking  along  the  brink. 

In  the  meadows  wandered  black  and  white  cattle  fan-  30 
tastically  marked.     One  beast,  with  a  white  head  and  the 
rest  of  the  body  glossy  black,  came  to  the  edge  to  drink, 
and  stood  gravely  twitching  his  ears  at  me  as  I  went  by, 
like  some  sort  of  preposterous  clergyman  in  a  play.     A 


30  An  Inland  Voyage 

moment  after  I  heard  a  loud  plunge,  and,  turninp:  my 
head,  saw  the  clergyman  struggling  to  shore.  The  bank 
had  given  way  under  his  feet. 

Besides  the  cattle,  we  saw  no  living  things  except  a  few 

5  birds  and  a  great  many  fishermen.  These  sat  along  the 
edges  of  the  meadows,  sometimes  with  one  rod,  sometimes 
with  as  many  as  half  a  score.  They  seemed  stupefied  with 
contentment ;  and  when  we  induced  them  to  exchange  a 
few  words  with  us  about  the  weather,  their  voices  sounded 

10  quiet  and  far-away.  There  was  a  strange  diversity  of 
opinion  among  them  as  to  the  kind  of  fish  for  which  they 
set  their  lures;  although  they  were  all  agreed  in  this,  that 
the  river  was  abundantly  supplied.  Where  it  was  plain 
that  no  two  of  them  had  ever  caught  the  same  kind  of 

15  fish,  we  could  not  help  suspecting  that  perhaps  not  any 
one  of  them  had  ever  caught  a  fish  at  all.  I  hope,  since  the 
afternoon  was  so  lovely,  that  they  were  one  and  all  re- 
warded ;  and  that  a  silver  booty  went  home  in  every  basket 
for  the  pot.     Some  of  my  friends  would  cry  shame  on  me 

2o  for  this;  for  I  prefer  a  man,  were  he  only  an  angler,  to  the 
bravest  pair  of  gills  in  all  God's  waters.  I  do  not  affect 
fishes  unless  when  cooked  in  sauce;  whereas  an  angler  is  an 
important  piece  of  river  scenery,  and  hence  deserves  some 
recognition   among   canoeists.      He   can    always    tell   you 

25  where  you  are  after  a  mild  fashion ;  and  his  quiet  presence 
serves  to  accentuate  the  solitude  and  stillness,  and  remind 
you  of  the  glittering  citizens  below  your  boat. 

The  Sambre  turned  so  industriously  to  and  fro  among 
his  little  hills,  that  it  was  past  six  before  we  drew  near  the 

30  lock  at  Quartes.  There  were  some  children  on  the  tow- 
path,  with  whom  the  Cigarette  fell  into  a  chaffing  talk  as 
they  ran  along  beside  us.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  warned 
him.  In  vain  I  told  him,  in  English,  that  boys  were  the  most 
dangerous  creatures;  and  if  once  you  began  with  them,  it 


On  the  Sambre  Canalized:   to  Quartes      31 

was  safe  to  end  in  a  shower  of  stones.  For  my  own  part, 
whenever  anything  was  addressed  to  me,  I  smiled  gently 
and  shook  my  head  as  though  I  were  an  inoffensive  per- 
son, inadequately  acquainted  with  French.  For  indeed  I 
have  had  such  experience  at  home,  that  I  would  sooner  5 
meet  many  wild  animals  than  a  troop  of  healthy  urchins. 

But  I  was  doing  injustice  to  these  peaceable  young 
Hainaulters.  When  the  Cigarette  went  off  to  make  in- 
quiries, I  got  out  upon  the  bank  to  smoke  a  pipe  and 
superintend  the  boats,  and  became  at  once  the  center  of  10 
much  amiable  curiosity.  The  children  had  been  joined  by 
this  time  by  a  young  woman  and  a  mild  lad  who  had  lost 
an  arm ;  and  this  gave  me  more  security.  When  I  let  slip 
my  first  word  or  so  in  French,  a  little  girl  nodded  her  head 
with  a  comical  grown-up  air.  "Ah,  you  see,"  she  said,  15 
"he  understands  well  enough  now;  he  was  just  making 
believe."  And  the  little  group  laughed  together  very  good- 
naturedly. 

They  were  much  impressed  when  they  heard  we  came 
from  England ;  and  the  little  girl  proffered  the  information  20 
that  England  was  an  island  "  and  a  far  way  from  here — 
bien  loin  d'ici." 

"  Ay,  you  may  say  that,  a  far  way  from  here,"  said  the 
lad  with  one  arm. 

I  was  as  nearly  home-sick  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life ;  they  25 
seemed   to  make  it  such  an   incalculable  distance  to   the 
place  where  I  first  saw  the  day. 

They  admired  the  canoes  very  much.  And  I  observed 
one  piece  of  delicacy  in  these  children,  which  is  worthy  of 
record.  They  had  been  deafening  us  for  the  last  hun-  ,10 
dred  yards  with  petitions  for  a  sail ;  ay,  and  they  deafened 
us  to  the  same  tune  next  morning  when  we  came  to  start; 
but  then,  when  the  canoes  were  lying  empty,  there  was  no 
word  of  any  such  petition.     Delicacy?  or  perhaps  a  bit  of 


32  An  Inland  Voyage 

fear  for  the  water  in  so  crank  a  vessel  ?  I  hate  cynicism 
a  great  deal  worse  than  I  do  the  devil ;  unless  perhaps  the 
two  were  the  same  thing?  And  yet  'tis  a  good  tonic;  the 
cold  tub  and  bath-towel  of  the  sentiments ;  and  positively 
5  necessary  to  life  in  cases  of  advanced  sensibility. 

From  the  boats  they  turned  to  my  costume.  They  could 
not  make  enough  of  my  red  sash ;  and  my  knife  filled  them 
with  awe. 

"  They  make  them  like  that  in  England,"  said  the  boy 

10  with  one  arm.  I  was  glad  he  did  not  know  how  badly  we 
make  them  in  England  now-a-days,  "  They  are  for  people 
who  go  away  to  sea,"  he  added,  "  and  to  defend  one's  life 
against  great  fish." 

I  felt  I  was  becoming  a  more  and  more  romantic  figure 

IS  to  the  little  group  at  every  word.  And  so  I  suppose  I  was. 
Even  my  pipe,  although  it  was  an  ordinary  French  clay, 
pretty  well  "  trousered,"  as  they  call  it,  would  have  a 
rarity  in  their  eyes,  as  a  thing  coming  from  so  far  away. 
And  if  my  feathers  were  not  very  fine  in  themselves  they 

20  were  all  from  over  seas.  One  thing  in  my  outfit,  however, 
tickled  them  out  of  all  politeness ;  and  that  was  the  bemired 
condition  of  my  canvas  shoes.  I  suppose  they  were  sure  the 
mud  at  any  rate  was  a  home  product.  The  little  girl  (who 
was  the  genius  of  the  party)    displayed  her  own  sabots 

25  in  competition ;  and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  grace- 
fully and  merrily  she  did  it. 

The  young  woman's  milk  can,  a  great  amphora  of  ham- 
mered brass,  stood  some  way  off  upon  the  sward.  I  was 
glad   of  an  opportunity  to  divert  public  attention   from 

30  myself,  and  return  some  of  the  compliments  I  had  received. 
So  I  admired  it  cordially  both  for  form  and  color,  telling 
them,  and  very  truly,  that  it  was  as  beautiful  as  gold. 
They  were  not  surprised.  The  things  were  plainly  the 
boast  of  the  countryside.     And  the  children  expatiated  on 


On  the  Sambre  Canalized:   to  Quartes     33 

the  costliness  of  these  amphorae,  which  sell  sometimes  as 
high  as  thirty  francs  apiece ;  told  me  how  they  were  carried 
on  donkeys,  one  on  either  side  of  the  saddle,  a  brave 
caparison  in  themselves;  and  how  they  were  to  be  seen  all 
over  the  district,  and  at  the  larger  farms  in  great  num- 
ber and  of  great  size. 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE:  WE  ARE  PEDLARS 

The  Cigarette  returned  with  good  news.  There  were 
beds  to  be  had  some  ten  minutes'  walk  from  where  we  were, 
at  a  place  called  Pont.  We  stowed  the  canoes  in  a  granary, 
and  asked  among  the  children  for  a  guide.  The  circle 
5  at  once  widened  round  us,  and  our  offers  of  reward  were 
received  in  dispiriting  silence.  We  were  plainly  a  pair  of 
Bluebeards  to  the  children ;  they  might  speak  to  us  in 
public  places,  and  where  they  had  the  advantage  of  num- 
bers; but  it  was  another  thing  to  venture  off  alone  with 

10  two  uncouth  and  legendary  characters,  who  had  dropped 
from  the  clouds  upon  their  hamlet  this  quiet  afternoon, 
sashed  and  beknived,  and  with  a  flavor  of  great  voyages. 
The  owner  of  the  granary  came  to  our  assistance,  singled 
out  one  little  fellow,  and  threatened  him  with  corporalities ; 

IS  or  I  suspect  we  should  have  had  to  find  the  way  for  our- 
selves. As  it  was,  he  was  more  frightened  at  the  granary 
man  than  the  strangers,  having  perhaps  had  some  experi- 
ence of  the  former.  But  I  fancy  his  little  heart  must  have 
been  going  at  a  fine  rate ;  for  he  kept  trotting  at  a  respect- 

20  ful  distance  in  front,  and  looking  back  at  us  with  scared 
eyes.  Not  otherwise  may  the  children  of  the  young  world 
have  guided  Jove  or  one  of  his  Olympian  compeers  on  an 
adventure. 

A  miry  lane  led  us  up  from  Quartes  with  its  church  and 

25  bickering  wind-mill.  The  hinds  were  trudging  home- 
wards from  the  fields.  A  brisk  little  old  woman  passed  us 
by.  She  was  seated  across  a  donkey  between  a  pair  of  glit- 
tering milk  cans;  and,  as  she  went,  she  kicked  jauntily 

34 


Pont-sur-Sambre :  We  are  Pedlars  35 

with  her  heels  upon  the  donkey's  side,  and  scattered  shrill 
remarks  among  the  wayfarers.  It  was  notable  that 
none  of  the  tired  men  took  the  trouble  to  reply.  Our 
conductor  soon  led  us  out  of  the  lane  and  across  country. 
The  sun  had  gone  down,  but  the  west  in  front  of  us  was  s 
one  lake  of  level  gold.  The  path  wandered  awhile  in  the 
open,  and  then  passed  under  a  trellis  like  a  bower  indefi- 
nitely prolonged.  On  either  hand  were  shadowy  orchards; 
cottages  lay  low  among  the  leaves  and  sent  their  smoke  to 
heaven;  every  here  and  there,  in  an  opening,  appeared  the  10 
great  gold  face  of  the  west. 

I  never  saw  the  Cigarette  in  such  an  idyllic  frame  of 
mind.  He  waxed  positively  lyrical  in  praise  of  country 
scenes.  I  was  little  less  exhilaiated  myself;  the  mild  air 
of  the  evening,  the  shadows,  the  rich  lights  and  the  silence,  15 
made  a  symphonious  accompaniment  about  our  walk ;  and 
we  both  determined  to  avoid  towns  for  the  future  and 
sleep  in  hamlets. 

At  last  the  path  went  between  two  houses,  and  turned 
the  party  out  into  a  wide  muddy  high-road,  bordered,  as  20 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach  on  either  hand,  by  an  unsightly 
village.  The  houses  stood  well  back,  leaving  a  ribbon  of 
waste  land  on  either  side  of  the  road,  where  there  were 
stacksof  firewood,  carts,  barrows,  rubbish  heaps,  and  a  little 
■doubtful  grass.  Away  on  the  left,  a  gaunt  tower  stood  in  25 
the  middle  of  the  street.  What  it  had  been  in  past  ages, 
I  know  not:  probably  a  hold  in  time  of  war;  but  now-a- 
days  it  bore  an  illegible  dial-plate  in  its  upper  parts,  and 
near  the  bottom  an  iron  letter-box. 

The  inn  to  which  we  had  been  recommended  at  Quartes  30 
was  full,  or  else  the  landlady  did  not  like  our  looks.     I 
ought  to  say,  that  with  our  long,  damp  india-rubber  bags, 
we  presented  rather  a  doubtful  type  of  civilization :  like  rag- 
and-bone  men,  the  Cigarette  imagined.    "  These  gentlemen 


36  An  Inland  Voyage 

arc  pedlars?" — Ccs  messieurs  sont  des  marchands? — asked 
the  landlady.  And  then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
which  I  suppose  she  thought  superfluous  in  so  plain  a  case, 
recommended  us  to  a  butcher  who  lived  hard  by  the  tower 
5  and  took  in  travelers  to  lodge. 

Thither  went  we.     But  the  butcher  was  flitting,  and  all 

his  beds  were  taken  down.    Or  else  he  didn't  like  our  look. 

As  a  parting  shot,  we  had,  "  These  gentlemen  are  pedlars?" 

It  began  to  grow  dark  in  earnest.    We  could  no  longer 

10  distinguish  the  faces  of  the  people  who  passed  us  by  with 
an  inarticulate  good-evening.  And  the  householders  of 
Pont  seemed  very  economical  with  their  oil ;  for  we  saw 
not  a  single  window  lighted  in  all  that  long  village.  I 
believe  it  is  the  longest  village  in  the  world ;  but  I  dare  say 

15  in  our  predicament  every  pace  counted  three  times  over. 
We  were  much  cast  down  when  we  came  to  the  last 
auberge;  and  looking  in  at  the  dark  door,  asked  timidly  if 
we  could  sleep  there  for  the  night.  A  female  voice  as- 
sented in  no  very  friendly  tones.     AVe  clapped  the  bags 

20  down  and  found  our  way  to  chairs. 

The  place  was  in  total  darkness,  save  a  red  glow  in  the 
chinks  and  ventilators  of  the  stove.  But  now  the  land- 
lady lit  a  lamp  to  see  her  new  guests;  I  suppose  the  dark- 
ness was  what  saved  us  another  expulsion ;  for  I  cannot  say 

25  she  looked  gratified  at  our  appearance.  We  were  in  a 
large  bare  apartment,  adorned  with  two  allegorical  prints 
of  Music  and  Painting,  and  a  copy  of  the  Law  against 
Public  Drunkenness.  On  one  side,  there  was  a  bit  of  a 
bar,  with  some  half-a-dozen  bottles.     Two  laborers  sat 

30  waiting  supper,  in  attitudes  of  extreme  weariness ;  a 
plain-looking  lass  bustled  about  with  a  sleepy  child  of  two ; 
and  the  landlady  began  to  derange  the  pots  upon  the  stove 
and  set  some  beefsteak  to  grill. 

"These   gentlemen   are   pedlars?"   she   asked   sharply. 


Pont-sur-Sambre :  We  are  Pedlars  37 

And  that  was  all  the  conversation  forthcoming.  We 
began  to  think  we  might  be  pedlars  after  all.  I  never 
knew  a  population  with  so  narrow  a  range  of  conjecture  as 
the  inn-keepers  of  Pont-sur-Sambre.  But  manners  and 
bearing  have  not  a  wider  currency  than  bank-notes.  You  s 
have  only  to  get  far  enough  out  of  your  beat,  and  all 
your  accomplished  airs  will  go  for  nothing.  These  Hai- 
naulters  could  see  no  difference  between  us  and  the  average 
pedlar.  Indeed  we  had  some  grounds  for  reflection  while 
the  steak  was  getting  ready,  to  see  how  perfectly  they  10 
accepted  us  at  their  own  valuation,  and  how  our  best 
politeness  and  best  efforts  at  entertainment  seemed  to  fit 
quite  suitably  with  the  character  of  packmen.  At  least 
it  seemed  a  good  account  of  the  profession  in  France,  that 
even  before  such  judges,  we  could  not  beat  them  at  our  15 
own  weapons. 

At  last  we  were  called  to  table.  The  two  hinds  (and 
one  of  them  looked  sadly  worn  and  white  in  the  face,  as 
though  sick  with  over-work  and  under-feeding)  supped  off 
a  single  plate  of  some  sort  of  bread-berry,  some  potatoes  in  20 
their  jackets,  a  small  cup  of  coffee  sweetened  with  sugar 
candy,  and  one  tumbler  of  swipes.  The  landlady,  her  son, 
and  the  lass  aforesaid  took  the  same.  Our  meal  was  quite 
a  banquet  by  comparison.  We  had  some  beefsteak,  not 
so  tender  as  it  might  have  been,  some  of  the  potatoes,  some  25 
cheese,  an  extra  glass  of  the  swipes,  and  white  sugar  in 
our  coffee. 

You  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  gentleman — I  beg  your  par- 
don, what  it  is  to  be  a  pedlar.  It  had  not  before  occurred 
to  me  that  a  pedlar  was  a  great  man  in  a  laborer's  ale-  30 
house ;  but  now  that  I  had  to  enact  the  part  for  an  evening, 
I  found  that  so  it  was.  He  has,  in  his  hedge  quarters, 
somewhat  the  same  preeminency  as  the  man  who  takes  a 
private  parlor  in  a  hotel.    The  more  you  look  into  it,  the 


38  An  Inland  Voyage 

more  infinite  are  the  class  distinctions  among  men;  and 
possibly,  by  a  happy  dispensation,  there  is  no  one  at  all  at 
the  bottom  of  the  scale ;  no  one  but  can  find  some  superi- 
ority over  somebody  else,  to  keep  up  his  pride  withal. 
5  We  were  displeased  enough  with  our  fare.  Particularly 
the  Cigarette;  for  I  tried  to  make  believe  that  I  was 
amused  with  the  adventure,  tough  beefsteak  and  all.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Lucretian  maxim,  our  steak  should  have 
been  flavored  by  the  look  of  the  other  people's  bread-berry. 

10  But  we  did  not  find  it  so  in  practice.  You  may  have  a 
head  knowledge  that  other  people  live  more  poorly  than 
yourself,  but  it  is  not  agreeable — I  was  going  to  say,  it  is 
against  the  etiquette  of  the  universe — to  sit  at  the  same 
table  and  pick  your  own  superior  diet  from  among  their 

15  crusts.  I  had  not  seen  such  a  thing  done  since  the  greedy 
boy  at  school  with  his  birthday  cake.  It  was  odious  enough 
to  witness,  I  could  remember ;  and  I  had  never  thought  to 
play  the  part  myself.  But  there  again  you  see  what  it  is 
to  be  a  pedlar. 

20  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  poorer  classes  in  our  country 
are  much  more  charitably  disposed  than  their  superiors  in 
wealth.  And  I  fancy  it  must  arise  a  great  deal  from  the 
comparative  indistinction  of  the  easy  and  the  not  so  easy 
in  these  ranks.     A  workman  or  a  pedlar  cannot  shutter 

25  himself  off  from  his  less  comfortable  neighbors.  If  he 
treats  himself  to  a  luxury,  he  must  do  it  in  the  face  of  a 
dozen  who  cannot.  And  what  should  more  directly  lead  to 
charitable  thoughts?  .  .  .  Thus  the  poor  man,  camping 
out  in  life,  sees  it  as  it  is,  and  knows  that  every  mouthful 

30  he  puts  in  his  belly  has  been  wrenched  out  of  the  fingers  of 
the  hungry. 

But  at  a  certain  stage  of  prosperity,  as  in  a  balloon 
ascent,  the  fortunate  person  passes  through  a  zone  of 
clouds,  and  sublunary  matters  are  thenceforward  hidden 


Pont-sur-Sambre :  We  are  Pedlars  39 

from  his  view.  He  sees  nothing  but  the  heavenly  bodies, 
all  in  admirable  order  and  positively  as  good  as  new.  He 
finds  himself  surrounded  in  the  most  touching  manner  by 
the  attentions  of  Providence,  and  compares  himself  in- 
voluntarily with  the  lilies  and  the  skylarks.  He  does  not  5 
precisely  sing,  of  course;  but  then  he  looks  so  unassuming 
in  his  open  landau!  H  all  the  world  dined  at  one  table, 
this  philosophy  would  meet  with  some  rude  knocks. 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE:  THE  TRAVELING 
MERCHANT 

Like  the  lackeys  in  Mollere's  farce,  when  the  true 
nobleman  broke  in  on  their  high  life  below  stairs,  we  were 
destined  to  be  confronted  with  a  real  pedlar.  To  make  the 
lesson  still  more  poignant  for  fallen  gentlemen  like  us, 
5  he  was  a  pedlar  of  infinitely  more  consideration  than  the 
sort  of  scurvy  fellows  we  were  taken  for:  like  a  lion  among 
mice,  or  a  ship  of  war  bearing  down  upon  two  cock-boats. 
Indeed,  he  did  not  deserve  the  name  of  pedlar  at  all :  he 
was  a  traveling  merchant. 

10  I  suppose  it  was  about  half-past  eight  when  this  worthy. 
Monsieur  Hector  Gilliard  of  Maubeuge,  turned  up  at  the 
ale-house  door  in  a  tilt  cart  drawn  by  a  donkey,  and  cried 
cheerily  on  the  inhabitants.  He  was  a  lean,  nervous 
flibbertigibbet  of  a  man,  with  something  the  look  of  an 

15  actor,  and  something  the  look  of  a  horse  jockey.  He  had 
evidently  prospered  without  any  of  the  favors  of  educa- 
tion; for  he  adhered  with  stern  simplicity  to  the  masculine 
gender,  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  passed  off  some 
fancy  futures  in  a  very  florid  style  of  architecture.    With 

20  him  came  his  wife,  a  comely  young  woman  with  her  hair 
tied  in  a  yellow  kerchief,  and  their  son,  a  little  fellow  of 
four,  in  a  blouse  and  military  kepi.  It  was  notable  that 
the  child  was  many  degrees  better  dressed  than  either  of 
the  parents.    We  were  informed  he  was  already  at  a  board- 

25  ing  school ;  but  the  holidays  having  just  commenced,  he 
was  off  to  spend  them  with  his  parents  on  a  cruise. 
An  enchanting  holiday  occupation,  was  it  not  ?  to  travel  all 

40 


Pont-sur-Sambre :  the  Traveling  Merchant     41 

day  with  father  and  mother  in  the  tilt  cart  full  of  count- 
less treasures ;  the  green  country  rattling  by  on  either  side, 
and  the  children  in  all  the  villages  contemplating  him  with 
envy  and  wonder?  It  is  better  fun,  during  the  holidays,  to 
be  the  son  of  a  traveling  merchant,  than  son  and  heir  to  the  5 
greatest  cotton  spinner  in  creation.  And  as  for  being  a 
reigning  prince — indeed  I  never  saw  one  if  it  was  not 
Master  Gilliard! 

While  M.  Hector  and  the  son  of  the  house  were  putting 
up  the  donkey,  and  getting  all  the  valuables  under  lock  10 
and  key,  the  landlady  warmed  up  the  remains  of  our  beef- 
steak, and  fried  the  cold  potatoes  in  slices,  and  Madame 
Gilliard  set  herself  to  waken  the  boy,  who  had  come  far 
that  day,  and  was  peevish  and  dazzled  by  the  light.  He 
was  no  sooner  awake  than  he  began  to  prepare  himself  for  15 
supper  by  eating  galette,  unripe  pears,  and  cold  potatoes — 
with,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  positive  benefit  to  his  appetite. 

The  landlady,  fired  with  motherly  emulation,  awoke  her 
own  little  girl ;  and  the  two  children  were  confronted. 
Master  Gilliard  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  very  much  20 
as  a  dog  looks  at  his  own  reflection  in  a  mirror  before  he 
turns  away.  He  was  at  that  time  absorbed  in  the  galette. 
His  mother  seemed  crestfallen  that  he  should  display  so 
little  inclination  towards  the  other  sex;  and  expressed  her 
disappointment  with  some  candor  and  a  very  proper  refer-  25 
ence  to  the  influence  of  years. 

Sure  enough  a  time  will  come  when  he  will  pay  more 
attention  to  the  girls,  and  think  a  great  deal  less  of  his 
mother:  let  us  hope  she  will  like  it  as  well  as  she  seemed 
to  fancy.  But  it  is  odd  enough ;  the  very  women  who  30 
profess  most  contempt  for  mankind  as  a  sex  seem  to 
find  even  its  ugliest  particulars  rather  lively  and  high- 
minded  in  their  own  sons. 

The  little  girl  looked  longer  and  with  more  interest, 


42  An  Inland  Voyage 

probably  because  she  was  in  her  own  house,  while  he  was 
a  traveler  and  accustomed  to  strange  sights.  And  besides 
there  was  no  galette  in  the  case  with  her. 

All  the  time  of  supper,  there  was  nothing  spoken  of  but 
5  my  young  lord.  The  two  parents  were  both  absurdly 
fond  of  their  child.  Monsieur  kept  insisting  on  his 
sagacity:  how  he  knew  all  the  children  at  school  by  name; 
and  when  this  utterly  failed  on  trial,  how  he  was  cautious 
and  exact  to  a  strange  degree,  and  if  asked  anything,  he 

10  would  sit  and  think — and  think,  and  if  he  did  not  know 
it,  "  my  faith,  he  wouldn't  tell  you  at  all — ma  foi,  il  ne 
vous  le  dira  pas."  Which  is  certainly  a  very  high  degree 
of  caution.  At  intervals,  M.  Hector  would  appeal  to  his 
wife,  with  his  mouth   full  of  beefsteak,   as  to   the  little 

15  fellow's  age  at  such  or  such  a  time  when  he  had  said  or 
done  something  memorable;  and  I  noticed  that  Madame 
usually  pooh-poohed  these  inquiries.  She  herself  was  not 
boastful  in  her  vein ;  but  she  never  had  her  fill  of  caressing 
the  child ;  and  she  seemed  to  take  a  gentle  pleasure  in  re- 

2o  calling  all  that  was  fortunate  in  his  little  existence.  No 
schoolboy  could  have  talked  more  of  the  holidays  which 
were  just  beginning  and  less  of  the  black  schooltime  which 
must  inevitably  follow  after.  She  showed,  with  a  pride 
perhaps  partly  mercantile   in  origin,   his  pockets  prepos- 

25  terously  swollen  with  tops  and  whistles  and  string. 
When  she  called  at  a  house  in  the  way  of  business,  it  ap- 
peared he  kept  her  company;  and  whenever  a  sale  was 
made,  received  a  sou  out  of  the  profit.  Indeed  they 
spoiled  him  vastly,  these  two  good  people.     But  they  had 

30  an  eye  to  his  manners  for  all  that,  and  reproved  him  for 
some  little  faults  in  breeding,  which  occurred  from  time 
to  time  during  supper. 

On  the  whole,  I  was  not  much  hurt  at  being  taken  for  a 
pedlar.    I  might  think  that  I  ate  with  greater  delicacy,  or 


I 


Pont-sur-Sambre :  the  Traveling  Merchant  43 

that  my  mistakes  in  French  belonged  to  a  different  order; 
but  it  was  plain  that  these  distinctions  would  be  thrown 
away  upon  the  landlady  and  the  two  laborers.  In  all 
essential  things,  we  and  the  Gilliards  cut  very  much  the 
same  figure  in  the  ale-house  kitchen.  M.  Hector  was  more  5 
at  home,  indeed,  and  took  a  higher  tone  with  the  world ; 
but  that  was  explicable  on  the  ground  of  his  driving  a 
donkey-cart,  while  we  poor  bodies  tramped  afoot.  I  dare 
say,  the  rest  of  the  company  thought  us  dying  with  envy, 
though  in  no  ill-sense,  to  be  as  far  up  in  the  profession  10 
as  the  new  arrival. 

And  of  one  thing  I  am  sure :  that  every  one  thawed  and 
became  more  humanized  and  conversable  as  soon  as  these 
innocent  people  appeared  upon  the  scene.  I  would  not 
very  readily  trust  the  traveling  merchant  with  any  ex-  15 
travagant  sum  of  money;  but  I  am  sure  his  heart  was  in 
the  right  place.  In  this  mixed  world,  if  you  can  find  one 
or  two  sensible  places  in  a  man,  above  all,  if  you  should 
find  a  whole  family  living  together  on  such  pleasant  terms, 
you  may  surely  be  satisfied,  and  take  the  rest  for  granted ;  20 
or,  what  is  a  great  deal  better,  boldly  make  up  your  mind 
that  you  can  do  perfectly  well  without  the  rest;  and  that 
ten  thousand  bad  traits  cannot  make  a  single  good  one 
any  the  less  good. 

It  was  getting  late.  M.  Hector  lit  a  stable  lantern  and  25 
went  off  to  his  cart  for  some  arrangements;  and  my  young 
gentleman  proceeded  to  divest  himself  of  the  better  part 
of  his  raiment,  and  play  gymnastics  on  his  mother's  lap, 
and  thence  on  to  the  floor,  with  accompaniment  of 
laughter.  30 

"Are  you  going  to  sleep  alone?"  asked  the  servant  lass. 

"There's  little  fear  of  that,"  says  Master  Gilliard. 

"You    sleep    alone    at    school,"    objected    his    mother. 
"  Come,  come,  you  must  be  a  man." 


'44  An  Inland  Voyage 

But  he  protested  that  school  was  a  different  matter  from 
the  holidays ;  that  there  were  dormitories  at  school ;  and 
silenced  the  discussion  with  kisses:  his  mother  smiling,  no 
one  better  pleased  than  she. 
5  There  certainly  was,  as  he  phrased  it,  very  little  fear 
that  he  should  sleep  alone ;  for  there  was  but  one  bed  for 
the  trio.  We,  on  our  part,  had  firmly  protested  against 
one  man's  accommodation  for  two ;  and  we  had  a  double- 
bedded  pen  in  the  loft  of  the  house,  furnished,  beside  the 

10  beds,  with  exactly  three  hat  pegs  and  one  table.  There 
was  not  so  much  as  a  glass  of  water.  But  the  window 
would  open,  by  good  fortune. 

Some  time  before  I  fell  asleep  the  loft  was  full  of  the 
sound  of  mighty  snoring:  the  Gilliards,  and  the  laborers, 

15  and  the  people  of  the  inn,  all  at  it,  I  suppose,  with  one 
consent.  The  young  moon  outside  shone  very  clearly  over 
Pont-sur-Sambre,  and  down  upon  the  ale-house  where 
all  we  pedlars  were  abed. 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED:  TO 
LANDRECIES 

In  the  morning,  when  we  came  down-stairs,  the  land- 
lady pointed  out  to  us  two  pails  of  water  behind  the  street 
door.  "  Voila  de  I'eau  pour  vous  debarbouiller,"  says  she. 
And  so  there  we  made  a  shift  to  wash  ourselves,  while 
Madame  Gilliard  brushed  the  family  boots  on  the  outer  5 
doorstep,  and  M.  Hector,  whistling  cheerily,  arranged 
some  small  goods  for  the  day's  campaign  in  a  portable 
chest  of  drawers,  which  formed  a  part  of  his  baggage. 
Meanwhile  the  child  was  letting  off  Waterloo  crackers 
all  over  the  floor.  10 

I  wonder,  by-the-by,  what  they  call  Waterloo  crackers 
in  France ;  perhaps  Austerlitz  crackers.  There  is  a  great 
deal  in  the  point  of  view.  Do  you  remember  the  French- 
man who,  traveling  by  way  of  Southampton,  was  put 
down  in  Waterloo  Station,  and  had  to  drive  across  Water-  15 
loo  Bridge?     He  had  a  mind  to  go  home  again,  it  seems. 

Pont  itself  is  on  the  river,  but  whereas  it  is  ten  minutes' 
walk  from  Quartes  by  dry  land,  it  is  six  weary  kilometers 
by  water.  We  left  our  bags  at  the  inn,  and  walked  to  our 
canoes  through  the  wet  orchards  unencumbered.  Some  20 
of  the  children  were  there  to  see  us  off,  but  we  were  no 
longer  the  mysterious  beings  of  the  night  before.  A  de- 
parture is  much  less  romantic  than  an  unexplained  arrival 
in  the  golden  evening.  Although  we  might  be  greatly 
taken  at  a  ghost's  first  appearance,  we  should  behold  him  25 
vanish  with  comparative  equanimity. 

The  good  folk  of  the  inn  at  Pont,  when  we  called  there 
45 


46  An  Inland  Voyage 

for  the  bags,  were  overcome  with  marveling.  At  sight  of 
these  two  dainty  little  boats,  with  a  fluttering  Union  Jack 
on  each,  and  all  the  varnish  shining  from  the  sponge,  they 
began  to  perceive  that  thej'  had  entertained  angels  una- 
5  wares.  The  landlady  stood  upon  tlie  bridge,  probably  la- 
menting she  had  charged  so  little ;  the  son  ran  to  and  fro, 
and  called  out  the  neighbors  to  enjoy  the  sight;  and  we 
paddled  away  from  quite  a  crowd  of  rapt  observers. 
These   gentlemen   pedlars,    indeed !      Now   you   see   their 

10  quality  too  late. 

The  whole  day  w^as  showery,  with  occasional  drenching 
plumps.  We  were  soaked  to  the  skin,  then  partially 
dried  in  the  sun,  then  soaked  once  more.  But  there  were 
some  calm  intervals,  and  one  notably,  when  we  were  skirt- 

15  ing  the  forest  of  Mormal,  a  sinister  name  to  the  ear,  but  a 
place  most  gratifying  to  sight  and  smell.  It  looked  solemn 
along  the  riverside,  drooping  its  boughs  into  the  water, 
and  piling  them  up  aloft  into  a  wall  of  leaves.  What  is  a 
forest  but  a  city  of  nature's  own,  full  of  hardy  and  innocu- 

200US  living  things,  where  there  is  nothing  dead  and  nothing 
made  with  the  hands,  but  the  citizens  themselves  are  the 
houses  and  public  monuments?  There  is  nothing  so  much 
alive,  and  yet  so  quiet,  as  a  woodland ;  and  a  pair  of  people, 
swinging  past  in  canoes,  feel  very  small  and  bustling  by 

25  comparison. 

And  surely  of  all  smells  in  the  world,  the  smell  of  many 
trees  is  the  sweetest  and  most  fortifying.  The  sea  has  a 
rude,  pistoling  sort  of  odor,  that  takes  you  in  the  nostrils 
like  snuff,  and  carries  with  it  a  fine  sentiment  of  open  water 

30  and  tall  ships;  but  the  smell  of  a  forest,  which  comes 
nearest  to  this  in  tonic  quality,  surpasses  it  by  many 
degrees  in  the  quality  of  softness.  Again,  the  smell  of  the 
sea  has  little  variety,  but  the  smell  of  a  forest  is  infinitely 
changeful;   it   varies  with  the   hour  of   the   day   not   in 


On  the  Sambre  Canalized:  to  Landrecles      47 

strength  merely,  but  in  character;  and  the  different  sorts 
of  trees,  as  you  go  from  one  zone  of  the  wood  to  another, 
seem  to  live  among  different  kinds  of  atmosphere.  Usu- 
ally the  resin  of  the  fir  predominates.  But  some  woods  are 
more  coquettish  in  their  habits ;  and  the  breath  of  the  forest  5 
of  Mormal,  as  it  came  aboard  upon  us  that  showery  after- 
noon, was  perfumed  with  nothing  less  delicate  than  sweet- 
briar. 

I  wish  our  way  had  always  lain  among  woods.     Trees 
are  the   most  civil   society.     An   old   oak   that  has  been  10 
growing  where  he  stands  since  before  the   Reformation, 
taller  than  many  spires,  more  stately  than  the  greater  part 
of  mountains,  and  yet  a  living  thing,  liable  to  sicknesses 
and  death,  like  you  and  me:  is  not  that  in  itself  a  speaking 
lesson  in  history?     But  acres  and  acres  full  of  such  patri-  15 
archs  contiguously  rooted,  their  green  tops  billowing  in 
the  wind,  their  stalwart  younglings  pushing  up  about  their 
knees:  a  whole  forest,  healthy  and  beautiful,  giving  color 
to  the  light,  giving  perfume  to  the  air:  what  is  this  but 
the  most   imposing  piece   in   nature's   repertory?      Heine  20 
wished  to  lie  like  Merlin  under  the  oaks  of  Broceliande.     I 
should  not  be  satisfied  with  one  tree ;  but  if  the  wood  grew 
together  like  a  banyan  grove,   I  would  be  buried  under 
the  tap-root  of  the  whole ;  my  parts  should  circulate  from 
oak   to    oak ;    and    my   consciousness   should    be   diffused  25 
abroad  in  all  the  forest,  and  give  a  common  heart  to  that 
assembly  of  green  spires,  so  that  it  also  might  rejoice  in  its 
own   loveliness  and  dignity.      I   think   I   feel  a  thousand 
squirrels  leaping  from  bough  to  bough  in  my  vast  mauso- 
leum ;  and  the  birds  and  the  winds  merrily  coursing  over  30 
its  uneven,  leafy  surface. 

Alas!  the  forest  of  Mormal  is  only  a  little  bit  of  a  wood, 
and  it  was  but  for  a  little  way  that  we  skirted  by  its 
boundaries.    And  the  rest  of  the  time  the  rain  kept  coming 


48  An  Inland  Voyage 

in  squirts  and  the  wind  in  squalls,  until  one's  heart  grew 
weary  of  such  fitful,  scolding  weather.  It  was  odd  how 
the  showers  began  when  we  had  to  carry  the  boats  over  a 
lock,  and  must  expose  our  legs.  They  always  did.  This 
5  is  a  sort  of  thing  that  readily  begets  a  personal  feeling 
against  nature.  There  seems  no  reason  why  the  shower 
should  not  come  five  minutes  before  or  five  minutes  after, 
unless  you  suppose  an  intention  to  affront  you.  The 
Cigarette  had  a  mackintosh  which  put  him  more  or  less 

10  above  these  contrarieties.  But  I  had  to  bear  the  brunt 
uncovered.  I  began  to  remember  that  nature  was  a 
woman.  My  companion,  in  a  rosier  temper,  listened  with 
great  satisfaction  to  my  Jeremiads,  and  ironically  con- 
curred.    He  instanced,  as  a  cognate  matter,  the  action  of 

15  the  tides,  "  Which,"  said  he,  "  was  altogether  designed  for 
the  confusion  of  canoeists,  except  in  so  far  as  it  was  cal- 
culated to  minister  to  a  barren  vanity  on  the  part  of  the 
moon." 

At  the  last  lock,  some  little  way  out  of  Landrecies,  I 

20  refused  to  go  any  further;  and  sat  in  a  drift  of  rain  by  the 
side  of  the  bank,  to  have  a  reviving  pipe.  A  vivacious  old 
man,  whom  I  take  to  have  been  the  devil,  drew  near  and 
questioned  me  about  our  journey.  In  the  fullness  of  my 
heart,  I  laid  bare  our  plans  before  him.     He  said,  it  was 

25  the  silliest  enterprise  that  ever  he  heard  of.  Why,  did  I 
not  know,  he  asked  me,  that  it  was  nothing  but  locks,  locks, 
locks,  the  whole  way?  not  to  mention  that,  at  this  season 
of  the  year,  we  should  find  the  Oise  quite  dry?  "  Get  into 
a  train,  my  little  young  man,"  said  he,  "  and  go  you  away 

30  home  to  your  parents."  I  was  so  astounded  at  the  man's 
malice,  that  I  could  only  stare  at  him  in  silence.  A  tree 
would  never  have  spoken  to  me  like  this.  At  last,  I  got 
out  with  some  words.  We  had  come  from  Antwerp  al- 
ready, I  told  him,  which  was  a  good  long  way;  and  we 


On  the  Sambre  Canalized:  to  Landrecles     49 

should  do  the  rest  in  spite  of  him.  Yes,  I  said,  if  there 
were  no  other  reason,  I  would  do  it  now,  just  because  he 
had  dared  to  say  we  could  not.  The  pleasant  old  gentle- 
man looked  at  me  sneeringly,  made  an  allusion  to  my 
canoe,  and  marched  off,  wagging  his  head.  5 

I  was  still  inwardly  fuming,  when  up  came  a  pair  of 
young  fellows,  who  imagined  I  was  the  Cigarette's  servant, 
on  a  comparison,  I  suppose,  of  my  bare  jersey  with  the 
other's  mackintosh,  and  asked  me  many  questions  about 
my  place  and  my  master's  character.  I  said  he  was  a  10 
good  enough  fellow,  but  had  this  absurd  voyage  on  the 
head.  "O  no,  no,"  said  one,  "you  must  not  say  that;  it 
is  not  absurd ;  it  is  very  courageous  of  him."  I  believe 
these  were  a  couple  of  angels  sent  to  give  me  heart  again. 
It  was  truly  fortifying  to  reproduce  all  the  old  man's  15 
insinuations,  as  if  they  were  original  to  me  in  my  char- 
acter of  a  malcontent  footman,  and  have  them  brushed 
away  like  so  many  flies  by  these  admirable  young  men. 

When  I  recounted  this  affair  to  the  Cigarette,  "  They 
must  have  a  curious  idea  of  how  English  servants  behave,"  20 
says  he,  dryly,  "  for  you  treated  me  like  a  brute  beast  at 
the  lock." 

I  was  a  good  deal  mortified ;  but  my  temper  had  suf- 
fered, it  is  a  fact. 


AT  LANDRECIES 

At  Landrecies  the  rain  still  fell  and  the  wind  still  blew ; 
but  we  found  a  double-bedded  room  with  plenty  of  furni- 
ture, real  water-jugs  with  real  water  in  them,  and  dinner; 
a  real  dinner,  not  innocent  of  real  wine.  After  having 
5  been  a  pedlar  for  one  night,  and  a  butt  for  the  elements 
during  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  these  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances fell  on  my  heart  like  sunshine.  There  was  an 
English  fruiterer  at  dinner,  traveling  with  a  Belgian 
fruiterer;  in  the  evening  at  the  cafe,  we  watched  our  com- 

10  patriot  drop  a  good  deal  of  money  at  corks;  and  I  don't 
know  why,  but  this  pleased  us. 

It  turned  out  we  were  to  see  more  of  Landrecies  than 
we  expected ;  for  the  weather  next  day  was  simply  bed- 
lamite.    It  is  not  the  place  one  would  have  chosen  for  a 

15  day's  rest;  for  it  consists  almost  entirely  of  fortifications. 
Within  the  ramparts,  a  few  blocks  of  houses,  a  long  row  of 
barracks,  and  a  church,  figure,  with  what  countenance  they 
may,  as  the  town.  There  seems  to  be  no  trade;  and  a 
shopkeeper  from  whom  I  bought  a  sixpenny  flint  and  steel 

20  was  so  much  affected,  that  he  filled  my  pockets  with  spare 
flints  into  the  bargain.  The  only  public  buildings  that 
had  any  interest  for  us  were  the  hotel  and  the  cafe. 
But  we  visited  the  church.  There  lies  Marshal  Clarke. 
But  as  neither  of  us  had  ever  heard  of  that  military  hero, 

25  we  bore  the  associations  of  the  spot  with  fortitude. 

In  all  garrison  towns,  guard-calls,  and  reveilles,  and 
such  like,  make  a  fine  romantic  interlude  in  civic  business. 
Bugles,  and  drums,  and  fifes,  are  of  themselves  most  ex- 

50 


At  Landrecies  51 

cellent  things  in  nature ;  and  when  they  carry  the  mind  to 
marching  armies  and  the  picturesque  vicissitudes  of  war, 
they  stir  up  something  proud  in  the  heart.  But  in  a 
shadow  of  a  town  like  Landrecies,  with  little  else  moving, 
these  points  of  war  made  a  proportionate  commotion.  5 
Indeed,  they  were  the  only  things  to  remember.  It  was 
just  the  place  to  hear  the  round  going  by  at  night  in  the 
darkness,  with  the  solid  tramp  of  men  marching,  and  the 
startling  reverberations  of  the  drum.  It  reminded  you, 
that  even  this  place  was  a  point  in  the  great  warfaring  10 
system  of  Europe,  and  might  on  some  future  day  be  ringed 
about  with  cannon  smoke  and  thunder,  and  make  itself 
a  name  among  strong  towns. 

The  drum,  at  any  rate,  from  its  martial  voice  and 
notable  physiological  effect,  nay,  even  from  its  cumbrous  15 
and  comical  shape,  stands  alone  among  the  instruments 
of  noise.  And  if  it  be  true,  as  I  have  heard  it  said,  that 
drums  are  covered  with  asses'  skin,  what  a  picturesque 
irony  is  there  in  that!  As  if  this  long-suffering  animal's 
hide  had  not  been  sufficiently  belabored  during  life,  now  20 
by  Lyonnese  costermongers,  now  by  presumptuous  Hebrew 
prophets,  it  must  be  stripped  from  his  poor  hinder  quarters 
after  death,  stretched  on  a  drum,  and  beaten  night  after 
night  round  the  streets  of  every  garrison  town  in  Europe. 
And  up  the  heights  of  Alma  and  Spicheren,  and  wherever  25 
death  has  his  red  flag  a-flying,  and  sounds  his  own  potent 
tuck  upon  the  cannons,  there  also  must  the  drummer  boy, 
hurrying  with  white  face  over  fallen  comrades,  batter 
and  bemaul  this  slip  of  skin  from  the  loins  of  peaceable 
donkeys.  30 

Generally  a  man  is  never  more  uselessly  employed  than 
when  he  is  at  this  trick  of  bastinadoing  asses'  hide.  We 
know  what  effect  it  has  in  life,  and  how  your  dull  ass  will 
not  mend  his  pace  with  beating.     But   in   this  state  of 


52  An  Inland  Voyage 

mummy  and  melancholy  survival  of  Itself,  when  the  hol- 
low skin  reverberates  to  the  drummer's  wrist,  and  each 
dub-a-dub  goes  direct  to  a  man's  heart,  and  puts  madness 
there,  and  that  disposition  of  the  pulses  which  we,  in  our 
5  big  way  of  talking,  nickname  Heroism: — is  there  not  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  revenge  upon  the  donkey's  perse- 
cutors? Of  old,  he  might  say,  you  drubbed  me  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  and  I  must  endure ;  but  now  that  I  am 
dead,   those  dull   thwacks  that  were  scarcely  audible  in 

10  country  lanes,  have  become  stirring  music  in  front  of  the 
brigade;  and  for  every  blow  that  you  lay  on  my  old  great 
coat,  you  will  see  a  comrade  stumble  and  fall. 

Not   long  after   the   drums   had   passed   the    ca^e,   the 
Cigarette  and   the  Arethusa  began   to   grow  sleepy,   and 

15  set  out  for  the  hotel  which  was  only  a  door  or  two  away. 
But  although  we  had  been  somewhat  indifferent  to  Lan- 
drecies,  Landrecies  had  not  been  indifferent  to  us.  All 
day,  we  learned,  people  had  been  running  out  between  the 
squalls  to  visit  our  two  boats.     Hundreds  of  persons,  so 

20  said  report,  although  it  fitted  ill  with  our  idea  of  the  town 

— hundreds  of  persons  had  inspected  them  where  they  lay 

in  a  coal-shed.     We  were  becoming  lions  in   Landrecies, 

who  had  been  only  pedlars  the  night  before  in  Pont. 

And  now,  when  we  left  the  cafe,  we  were  pursued  and 

25  overtaken  at  the  hotel  door,  by  no  less  a  person  than  the 
Juge  de  Paix:  a  functionary,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out, 
of  the  character  of  a  Scotch  Sheriff  Substitute.  He  gave 
us  his  card  and  invited  us  to  sup  with  him  on  the  spot, 
very  neatly,  very  gracefully,  as  Frenchmen  can  do  these 

30  things.  It  was  for  the  credit  of  Landrecies,  said  he ;  and 
although  we  knew  very  well  how  little  credit  we  could 
do  the  place,  we  must  have  been  churlish  fellows  to  refuse 
an  invitation  so  politely  introduced. 

The  house  of  the  Judge  was  close  by;  it  was  a  well- 


At  Landrecies  53 

appointed  bachelor's  establishment  with  a  curious  collec- 
tion of  old  brass  warming-pans  upon  the  walls.  Some 
of  these  were  mostly  elaborately  carved.  It  seemed  a  pic- 
turesque idea  for  a  collector.  You  could  not  help  thinking 
how  many  night-caps  had  wagged  over  these  warming-pans  s 
in  past  generations;  what  jests  may  have  been  made,  and 
kisses  taken,  while  they  were  in  service;  and  how  often 
they  had  been  uselessly  paraded  in  the  bed  of  death.  If 
they  could  only  speak,  at  what  absurd,  indecorous,  and 
tragical  scenes  had  they  not  been  present!  lo 

The  wine  was  excellent.  When  we  made  the  Judge  our 
compliments  upon  a  bottle,  "  I  do  riot  give  it  to  you  as  my 
worst,"  said  he.  I  wonder  when  Englishmen  will  learn 
these  hospitable  graces.  They  are  worth  learning;  they 
set  off  life,  and  make  ordinary  moments  ornamental.  15 

There  were  two  other  Landrecienses  present.  One  was 
the  collector  of  something  or  other,  I  forget  what;  the 
other,  we  were  told,  was  the  principal  notary  of  the  place. 
So  it  happened  that  we  all  five  more  or  less  followed  the 
law.  At  this  rate,  the  talk  was  pretty  certain  to  become  20 
technical.  The  Cigarette  expounded  the  poor  laws  very 
magisterially.  And  a  little  later  I  found  myself  laying 
down  the  Scotch  Law  of  Illegitimacy,  of  which  I  am  glad 
to  say  I  know  nothing.  The  collector  and  the  notary, 
who  were  both  married  men,  accused  the  Judge,  who  was  25 
a  bachelor,  of  having  started  the  subject.  He  deprecated 
the  charge,  with  a  conscious,  pleased  air,  just  like  all  the 
men  I  have  ever  seen,  be  they  French  or  English.  How 
strange  that  we  should  all,  in  our  unguarded  moments, 
rather  like  to  be  thought  a  bit  of  a  rogue  with  the  women!  30 

As  the  evening  went  on,  the  wine  grew  more  to  my 
taste;  the  spirits  proved  better  than  the  wine;  the  com- 
pany was  genial.  This  was  the  highest  water  mark  of 
popular  favor  on  the  whole  cruise.     After  all,  being  in  a 


'54  An  Inland  Voyage 

Judge's  house,  was  there  not  something  semi-official  in  the 
tribute?  And  so,  remembering  what  a  great  country 
France  is,  we  did  full  justice  to  our  entertainment.  Lan- 
drecies  had  been  a  long  while  asleep  before  we  returned 
5  to  the  hotel ;  and  the  sentries  on  the  ramparts  were  already 
looking  for  daybreak. 


SAMBRE  AND  OISE  CANAL:  CANAL  BOATS 

Next  day  we  made  a  late  start  in  the  rain.  The  Judge 
politely  escorted  us  to  the  end  of  the  lock  under  an  um- 
brella. We  had  now  brought  ourselves  to  a  pitch  of 
humility  in  the  matter  of  weather,  not  often  attained 
except  in  the  Scotch  Highlands.  A  rag  of  blue  sky  or  a  5 
glimpse  of  sunshine  set  our  hearts  singing;  and  when  the 
rain  was  not  heavy,  we  counted  the  day  almost  fair. 

Long  lines  of  barges  lay  one  after  another  along  the 
canal ;  many  of  them  looking  mighty  spruce  and  ship- 
shape in  their  jerkin  of  Archangel  tar  picked  out  with  10 
white  and  green.  Some  carried  gay  iron  railings,  and 
quite  a  parterre  of  flowerpots.  Children  played  on  the 
decks,  as  heedless  of  the  rain  as  if  they  had  been  brought 
up  on  Loch  Carron  side;  men  fished  over  the  gunwale, 
some  of  them  under  umbrellas;  women  did  their  washing;  15 
and  every  barge  boasted  its  mongrel  cur  by  way  of  watch- 
dog. Each  one  barked  furiously  at  the  canoes,  running 
alongside  until  he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  own  ship,  and 
so  passing  on  the  word  to  the  dog  aboard  the  next.  We 
must  have  seen  something  like  a  hundred  of  these  em-  20 
barkations  in  the  course  of  that  day's  paddle,  ranged  one 
after  another  like  the  houses  in  a  street ;  and  from  not  one 
of  them  were  we  disappointed  of  this  accompaniment.  It 
was  like  visiting  a  menagerie,  the  Cigarette  remarked. 

These  little  cities  by  the  canal  side  had  a  very  odd  effect  25 
upon  the  mind.     They  seemed,  with  their  flowerpots  and 
smoking  chimneys,  their  washings  and  dinners,  a  rooted 

55 


56  An  Inland  Voyage 

piece  of  nature  in  the  scene;  and  yet  if  only  the  canal 
below  were  to  open,  one  junk  after  another  would  hoist 
sail  or  harness  horses  and  swim  away  into  all  parts  of 
France;    and    the    impromptu    hamlet    would    separate, 

5  house  by  house,  to  the  four  winds.  The  children  who 
played  together  to-day  by  the  Sambre  and  Oise  Canal, 
each  at  his  own  father's  threshold,  when  and  where  might 
they  next  meet? 

For  some  time  past  the  subject  of  barges  had  occupied  a 

10  great  deal  of  our  talk,  and  we  had  projected  an  old  age  on 
the  canals  of  Europe.  It  was  to  be  the  most  leisurely  of 
progresses,  now  on  a  swift  river  at  the  tail  of  a  steam-boat, 
now  waiting  horses  for  days  together  on  some  inconsider- 
able junction.    We  should  be  seen  pottering  on  deck  in  all 

IS  the  dignity  of  years,  our  white  beards  falling  into  our 
laps.  We  were  ever  to  be  busied  among  paint-pots;  so 
that  there  should  be  no  white  fresher,  and  no  green  more 
emerald  than  ours,  in  all  the  navy  of  the  canals.  There 
should  be  books  in  the  cabin,  and  tobacco  jars,  and  some 

20  old  Burgundy  as  red  as  a  November  sunset  and  as  odorous 
as  a  violet  in  April.  There  should  be  a  flageolet  whence 
the  Cigarette,  with  cunning  touch,  should  draw  melting 
music  under  the  stars ;  or  perhaps,  laying  that  aside,  up- 
raise his  voice — somewhat  thinner  than  of  yore,  and  with 

25  here  and  there  a  quaver,  or  call  it  a  natural  grace  note — 
in  rich  and  solemn  psalmody. 

All  this  simmering  in  my  mind,  set  me  wishing  to  go 
aboard  one  of  these  ideal  houses  of  lounging.  I  had  plenty 
to  choose  from,  as  I  coasted  one  after  another,  and  the 

30 dogs  bayed  at  me  for  a  vagrant.  At  last  I  saw  a  nice  old 
man  and  his  wife  looking  at  me  with  some  interest,  so  I 
gave  them  good  day  and  pulled  up  alongside.  I  began 
with  a  remark  upon  their  dog,  which  had  somewhat  the 
look  of  a  pointer;  thence  I   slid  into  a  compliment  on 


Sambre  and  Olse  Canal:  Canal  Boats       57 

Madame's  flowers,  and  thence  into  a  word  in  praise  of 
their  way  of  life. 

If  you  ventured  on  such  an  experiment  in  England  you 
would  get  a  slap  in  the  face  at  once.     The  life  would  be 
shown  to  be  a  vile  one,  not  without  a  side  shot  at  your  5 
I  better  fortune.    Now,  what  I  like  so  much  in  France  is  the 
/clear  unflinching  recognition  by  everybody  of  his  own  luck. 
/  They  all  know  on  which  side  their  bread  is  buttered,  and 
I   take  a  pleasure  in  showing  it  to  others,  which  is  surely  the 
'   better  part  of  religion.     And  they  scorn  to  make  a  poor  10 
mouth  over  their  poverty,  which  I  take  to  be  the  better 
part  of  manliness.    I  have  heard  a  woman  in  quite  a  better 
position  at  home,  with  a  good  bit  of  money  in  hand,  refer 
to  her  own  child  with  a  horrid  whine  as  "  a  poor  man's 
child."     I  would  not  say  such  a  thing  to  the  Duke  of  15 
Westminster.     And  the  French  are  full  of  this  spirit  of 
independence.     Perhaps  it  is  the  result  of  republican  in- 
stitutions, as  they  call  them.     Much  more  likely  it  is  be- 
cause there  are  so  few  people  really  poor,  that  the  whiners 
are  not  enough  to  keep  each  other  in  countenance.  20 

The  people  on  the  barge  were  delighted  to  hear  that  I 
admired  their  state.  They  understood  perfectly  well,  they 
told  me,  how  Monsieur  envied  them.  Without  doubt 
Monsieur  was  rich ;  and  in  that  case  he  might  make  a 
canal  boat  as  pretty  as  a  villa — joli  cornme  un  chateau.  25 
And  with  that  they  invited  me  on  board  their  own  water 
villa.  They  apologized  for  their  cabin;  they  had  not  been 
rich  enough  to  make  it  as  it  ought  to  be. 

"  The  fire  should  have  been  here,  at  this  side,"  explained 
the  husband.  "  Then  one  might  have  a  writing-table  in  30 
the  middle — books — and  [comprehensively]  all..  It  would 
be  quite  coquettish — ca  serait  tout-a-fait  coquet."  And 
he  looked  about  him  as  though  the  improvements  were 
already  made.     It  was  plainly  not  the  first  time  that  he 


58  An  Inland  Voyage 

had  thus  beautified  his  cabin  in  imagination;  and  when 
next  he  makes  a  hit,  I  should  expect  to  see  the  writing- 
table  in  the  middle. 

Madame  had  three  birds  in  a  cage.  They  were  no 
5  great  thing,  she  explained.  Fine  birds  were  so  dear.  They 
had  sought  to  get  a  Hollandais  last  winter  in  Rouen 
(Rouen?  thought  I;  and  is  this  whole  mansion,  with  its 
dogs  and  birds  and  smoking  chimneys,  so  far  a  traveler  as 
that?  and  as  homely  an  object  among  the  cliffs  and  or- 

lochards  of  the  Seine  as  on  the  green  plains  of  Sambre?)  — 
they  had  sought  to  get  a  Hollandais  last  winter  in  Rouen ; 
but  these  cost  fifteen  francs  apiece — picture  it — fifteen 
francs ! 

"Pour  un  tout  petit  oiseau — For  quite  a  little  bird," 

15  added  the  husband. 

As  I  continued  to  admire,  the  apologetics  died  away, 
and  the  good  people  began  to  brag  of  their  barge,  and  their 
happy  condition  in  life,  as  if  they  had  been  Emperor  and 
Empress  of  the  Indies.     It  was,  in  the  Scotch  phrase,  a 

20  good  hearing,  and  put  me  in  good  humor  with  the  world. 
If  people  knew  what  an  inspiriting  thing  it  is  to  hear  a  man 
boasting,  so  long  as  he  boasts  of  what  he  really  has,  I 
believe  they  would  do  it  more  freely  and  with  a  better 
grace. 

25  They  began  to  ask  about  our  voyage.  You  should  have 
seen  how  they  sympathized.  They  seemed  half  ready  to 
give  up  their  barge  and  follow  us.  But  these  canaletti 
are  only  gipsies  semi-domesticated.  The  semi-domestica- 
tion came  out  in  rather  a  pretty  form.     Suddenly  Ma- 

.^0  dame's   brow   darkened.      "  Cependant,"   she   began,    and 
then  stopped;  and  then  began  again  by  asking  me  if  I 
were  single? 
"  Yes,"  said  I. 
"And  your  friend  who  went  by  just  now?" 


Sambre  and  Olse  Canal:  Canal  Boats       59 

He  also  was  unmarried. 

O  then — all  was  well.  She  could  not  have  wives  left 
alone  at  home;  but  since  there  were  no  wives  in  the  ques- 
tion, we  were  doing  the  best  we  could. 

"To  see  about  one  in  the  world,"  said  the  husband,  5 
"  //  n'y  a  que  fa — there  is  nothing  else  worth  while.     A 
man,  look  you,  who  sticks  in  his  own  village  like  a  bear," 
he  went  on,  " — very  well,  he  sees  nothing.     And  then 
death  is  the  end  of  all.    And  he  has  seen  nothing." 

Madame  reminded  her  husband  of  an  Englishman  who  10 
had  come  up  this  canal  in  a  steamer. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Moens  in  the  Ytene/'  I  suggested. 

"  That's  it,"  assented  the  husband.  "  He  had  his  wife 
and  family  with  him,  and  servants.  He  came  ashore  at 
all  the  locks  and  asked  the  name  of  the  villages,  whether  15 
from  boatmen  or  lock-keepers;  and  then  he  wrote,  wrote 
them  down.  O  he  wrote  enormously!  I  suppose  it  was 
a  wager." 

A  wager  was  a  common  enough  explanation  for  our 
own  exploits,  but  it  seemed  an  original  reason  for  taking  20 
notes. 


THE  OISE  IN  FLOOD 

Before  nine  next  morning  the  two  canoes  were  installed 
on  a  light  country  cart  at  Etreux:  and  we  w'ere  soon  fol- 
lowing them  along  the  side  of  a  pleasant  valley  full  of  hop- 
gardens and  poplars.  Agreeable  villages  lay  here  and 
5  there  on  the  slope  of  the  hill ;  notably,  Tupigny,  with  the 
hop-poles  hanging  their  garlands  in  the  very  street,  and 
the  houses  clustered  with  grapes.  There  was  a  faint  en- 
thusiasm on  our  passage;  weavers  put  their  heads  to  the 
windows;  children   cried   out   in   ecstasy  at  sight  of  the 

10  two  "  boaties  " — barquettes:  and  bloused  pedestrians,  who 
were  acquainted  with  our  charioteer,  jested  with  him  on 
the  nature  of  his  freight. 

We  had  a  shower  or  two,  but  light  and  flying.    The  air 
was  clean  and  sweet  among  all  these  green  fields  and  green 

15  things  growing.  There  was  not  a  touch  of  autumn  in  the 
weather.  And  when,  at  Vadencourt,  we  launched  from  a 
little  lawn  opposite  a  mill,  the  sun  broke  forth  and  set  all 
the  leaves  shining  in  the  valley  of  the  Oise. 

The   river   was   swollen   with   the   long   rains.     From 

20  Vadencourt  all  the  w-ay  to  Origny,  it  ran  with  ever 
quickening  speed,  taking  fresh  heart  at  each  mile,  and  rac- 
ing as  though  it  already  smelt  the  sea.  The  water  was 
yellow  and  turbulent,  swung  with  an  angry  eddy  among 
half-submerged  willows,  and  made  an  angry  clatter  along 

25  stony  shores.  The  course  kept  turning  and  turning  in  a 
narrow  and  well-timbered  vallej'.  Now,  the  river  would 
approach  the  side,  and  run  gliding  along  the  chalky  base  of 
the  hill,  and  show  us  a  few  open  colza  fields  among  the 

60      • 


The  Olse  In  Flood  6i 

trees.  Now,  it  would  skirt  the  garden-walls  of  houses, 
where  we  might  catch  a  glimpse  through  a  doorway,  and 
see  a  priest  pacing  in  the  checkered  sunlight.  Again,  the 
foliage  closed  so  thickly  in  front,  that  there  seemed  to  be 
no  issue ;  only  a  thicket  of  willows,  overtopped  by  elms  and  s 
poplars,  under  which  the  river  ran  flush  and  fleet,  and 
where  a  kingfisher  flew  past  like  a  piece  of  the  blue  sky. 
On  these  different  manifestations,  the  sun  poured  its  clear 
and  catholic  looks.  The  shadows  lay  as  solid  on  the  swift 
surface  of  the  stream  as  on  the  stable  meadows.  The  lo 
light  sparkled  golden  in  the  dancing  poplar  leaves,  and 
brought  the  hills  into  communion  with  our  eyes.  And  all 
the  while  the  river  never  stopped  running  or  took  breath ; 
and  the  reeds  along  the  whole  valley  stood  shivering  from 
top  to  toe.  15 

There  should  be  some  myth  (but  if  there  is,  I  know  it 
not)  founded  on  the  shivering  of  the  reeds.  There  are 
not  many  things  in  nature  more  striking  to  man's  eye. 
It  is  such  an  eloquent  pantomime  of  terror;  and  to  see 
such  a  number  of  terrified  creatures  taking  sanctuary  in  20 
every  nook  along  the  shore,  is  enough  to  infect  a  silly 
human  with  alarm.  Perhaps  they  are  only  a-cold,  and 
no  wonder,  standing  waist  deep  in  the  stream.  Or  per- 
haps they  have  never  got  accustomed  to  the  speed  and 
fury  of  the  river's  flux,  or  the  miracle  of  its  continuous  25 
body.  Pan  once  played  upon  their  forefathers ;  and  so, 
by  the  hands  of  his  river,  he  still  plays  upon  these  later 
generations  down  all  the  valley  of  the  Oise ;  and  plaj's  the 
same  air,  both  sweet  and  shrill,  to  tell  us  of  the  beauty 
and  the  terror  of  the  world.  30 

The  canoe  was  like  a  leaf  in  the  current.  It  took  it 
up  and  shook  it,  and  carried  it  masterfully  away,  like 
a  Centaur  carrying  off  a  nymph.  To  keep  some  command 
on  our  direction  required  hard  and  diligent  plying  of  the 


62  An   Inland  Voyage 

paddle.  The  river  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  the  sea! 
Every  drop  of  water  ran  in  a  panic,  like  as  many  people 
in  a  frightened  crowd.  But  what  crowd  was  ever  so 
numerous,  or  so  single-minded?  All  the  objects  of  sight 
5  went  by  at  a  dance  measure ;  the  eyesight  raced  with  the 
racing  river;  the  exigencies  of  every  moment  kept  the  pegs 
screwed  so  tight,  that  our  being  quivered  like  a  well-tuned 
ifistrument ;  and  the  blood  shook  off  its  lethargy,  and 
trotted  through  all  the  highways  and  byways  of  the  veins 

10  and  arteries,  and  in  and  out  of  the  heart,  as  if  circulation 
were  but  a  holiday  journey,  and  not  the  daily  moil  of 
threescore  years  and  ten.  The  reeds  might  nod  their  heads 
in  warning,  and  with  tremendous  gestures  tell  how  the 
river  w'as  as  cruel  as  it  was  strong  and  cold,  and  how 

15  death  lurked  in  the  eddy  underneath  the  willows.  But 
the  reeds  had  to  stand  where  they  were;  and  those  who 
stand  still  are  always  timid  advisers.  As  for  us,  w-e  could 
have  shouted  aloud.  If  this  lively  and  beautiful  river 
were,    indeed,    a   thing   of    death's   contrivance,    the    old 

20  ashen  rogue  had  famously  outwitted  himself  with  us.     I 

was  living  three   to   the   minute.      I   was   storing  points 

against  him  every  stroke  of  my  paddle,  every  turn  of  the 

stream.     I  have  rarely  had  better  profit  of  my  life. 

For  I  think  we  may  look  upon  our  little  private  war 

25  with  death  somewhat  in  this  light.  If  a  man  knows  he 
will  sooner  or  later  be  robbed  upon  a  journey,  he  will  have 
a  bottle  of  the  best  in  every  inn,  and  look  upon  all  his 
extravagances  as  so  much  gained  upon  the  thieves.  And 
above  all,  where,  instead  of  simply  spending,  he  makes  a 

30  profitable  investment  for  some  of  his  money,  when  it 
will  be  out  of  risk  of  loss.  So  every  bit  of  brisk  living, 
and  above  all  when  it  is  healthful,  is  just  so  much  gained 
upon  the  wholesale  filcher,  death.  We  shall  have  the 
less  in  our  pockets,  the  more  in  our  stomach,  when  he 


The  Olse  in  Flood  6^ 

cries,  Stand  and  deliver.  A  swift  stream  Is  a  favorite 
artifice  of  his,  and  one  that  brings  him  in  a  comfortable 
thing  per  annum;  but  when  he  and  I  come  to  settle  our 
accounts,  I  shall  whistle  in  his  face  for  these  hours  upon 
the  upper  Oise.  5 

Towards  afternoon  we  got  fairly  drunken  with  the  sun- 
shine and  the  exhilaration  of  the  pace.  We  could  no 
longer  contain  ourselves  and  our  content.  The  canoes 
were  too  small  for  us ;  we  must  be  out  and  stretch  our- 
selves on  shore.  And  so  in  a  green  meadow  we  bestowed  lo 
our  limbs  on  the  grass,  and  smoked  deifying  tobacco  and 
proclaimed  the  world  excellent.  It  was  the  last  good 
hour  of  the  day,  and  I  dwell  upon  it  with  extreme  compla- 
cency. 

On  one  side  of  the  valley,  high  upon  the  chalky  summit  15 
of  the  hill,  a  plowman  with  his  team  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared at  regular  intervals.  At  each  revelation  he 
stood  still  for  a  few  seconds  against  the  sky:  for  all  the 
world  (as  the  Cigarette  declared)  like  a  toy  Burns  who 
had  just  plowed  up  the  Mountain  Daisy.  He  was  the  only  20 
living  thing  within  view,  unless  we  are  to  count  the  river. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  valley  a  group  of  red  roofs  and 
a  belfry  showed  among  the  foliage.  Thence  some  inspired 
bell-ringer  made  the  afternoon  musical  on  a  chime  of 
bells.  There  was  something  very  sweet  and  taking  in  the  25 
air  he  played ;  and  we  thought  we  had  never  heard  bells 
speak  so  intelligibly,  or  sing  so  melodiously,  as  these.  It 
must  have  been  to  some  such  measure  that  the  spinners 
and  the  young  maids  sang,  "  Come  away.  Death,"  in  the 
Shakespearian  Illyria.  There  is  so  often  a  threatening  30 
inote,  something  blatant  and  metallic,  in  the  voice  of 
/bells,  that  I  believe  we  have  fully  more  pain  than  pleasure 
'  from  hearing  them ;  but  these,  as  they  sounded  abroad, 
now  high,  now  low,  now  with  a  plaintive  cadence  that 


64  An  Inland  Voyage 

caught  the  ear  like  the  burthen  of  a  popular  song,  were 
always  moderate  and  tunable,  and  seemed  to  fall  in  with 
the  spirit  of  still,  rustic  places,  like  the  noise  of  a  waterfall 
or  the  babble  of  a  rookery  in  spring.  I  could  have  asked 
5  the  bell-ringer  for  his  blessing,  good,  sedate  old  man,  who 
swung  the  rope  so  gently  to  the  time  of  his  meditations.  I 
could  have  blessed  the  priest  or  the  heritors,  or  whoever 
may  be  concerned  with  such  afifairs  in  France,  who  had 
left  these  sweet  old  bells  to  gladden  the  afternoon,  and 

10  not  held  meetings,  and  made  collections,  and  had  their 
names  repeatedly  printed  in  the  local  paper,  to  rig  up  a  peal 
of  brand-new,  brazen,  Birmingham-hearted  substitutes,  who 
should  bombard  their  sides  to  the  provocation  of  a  brand- 
new   bell-ringer,   and   fill  the  echoes  of  the  valley  with 

IS  terror  and  riot. 

At  last  the  bells  ceased,  and  with  their  note  the  sun 
withdrew.  The  piece  was  at  an  end ;  shadow  and  silence 
possessed  the  valley  of  the  Oise.  We  took  to  the  paddle 
with  glad  hearts,  like  people  who  have  sat  out  a  noble 

20  performance,  and  return  to  work.  The  river  was  more 
dangerous  here ;  it  ran  swifter,  the  eddies  were  more  sud- 
den and  violent.  All  the  way  down  we  had  had  our  fill  of 
difficulties.  Sometimes  it  was  a  weir  which  could  be  shot, 
sometimes  one  so  shallow  and  full  of  stakes  that  we  must 

25  withdraw  the  boats  from  the  water  and  carry  them  round. 
But  the  chief  sort  of  obstacle  was  a  consequence  of  the  late 
high  winds.  Every  two  or  three  hundred  yards  a  tree 
had  fallen  across  the  river  and  usually  involved  more  than 
another  in  its  fall.    Often  there  was  free  water  at  the  end, 

30  and  we  could  steer  round  the  leafy  promontory  and  hear 
the  water  sucking  and  bubbling  among  the  twigs.  Often, 
again,  when  the  tree  reached  from  bank  to  bank,  there 
was  room,  by  lying  close,  to  shoot  through  underneath, 
canoe  and  all.     Sometimes  it  was  necessary  to  get  out 


The  Oise  in  Flood  65 

upon  the  trunk  itself  and  pull  the  boats  across;  and  some- 
times, where  the  stream  was  too  impetuous  for  this,  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  land  and  "  carry  over."  This 
made  a  fine  series  of  accidents  in  the  day's  career,  and 
kept  us  aware  of  ourselves.  5 

Shortly  after  our  reembarkation,  while  I  was  leading 
by  a  long  way,  and  still  full  of  a  noble,  exulting  spirit  in 
honor  of  the  sun,  the  swift  pace,  and  the  church  bells,  the 
river  made  one  of  its  leonine  pounces  round  a  corner,  and 
I  was  aware  of  another  fallen  tree  within  a  stone-cast.  I  10 
had  my  backboard  down  in  a  trice,  and  aimed  for  a  place 
where  the  trunk  seemed  high  enough  above  the  water, 
and  the  branches  not  too  thick  to  let  me  slip  below.  When 
a  man  has  just  vowed  eternal  brotherhood  with  the  uni- 
verse, he  is  not  in  a  temper  to  take  great  determinations  15 
coolly,  and  this,  which  might  have  been  a  very  important 
determination  for  me,  had  not  been  taken  under  a  happy 
star.  The  tree  caught  me  about  the  chest,  and  while  I 
was  yet  struggling  to  make  less  of  myself  and  get  through, 
the  river  took  the  matter  out  of  my  hands,  and  bereaved  20 
me  of  my  boat.  The  Arethusa  swung  round  broadside  on, 
leaned  over,  ejected  so  much  of  me  as  still  remained  on 
board,  and  thus  disencumbered,  whipped  under  the  tree, 
righted,  and  went  merrily  away  down  stream. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  it  was  before  I  scrambled  on  to  25 
the  tree  to  which  I  was  left  clinging,  but  it  was  longer  than 
I  cared  about.  My  thoughts  were  of  a  grave  and  almost 
somber  character,  but  I  still  clung  to  my  paddle.  The 
stream  ran  away  with  my  heels  as  fast  as  I  could  pull  up 
my  shoulders,  and  I  seemed,  by  the  weight,  to  have  all  the  30 
water  of  the  Oise  in  my  trouser  pockets.  You  can  never 
know,  till  you  try  it,  what  a  dead  pull  a  river  makes 
against  a  man.  Death  himself  had  me  by  the  heels,  for  this 
was  his  last  ambuscado,  and  he  must  now  join  personally 


66  An   Inland  Voyage 

in  the  fray.  And  still  I  held  to  my  paddle.  At  last  I 
dragged  myself  on  to  my  stomach  on  the  trunk,  and  lay 
there  a  breathless  sop,  with  a  mingled  sense  of  humor 
and  injustice.     A  poor  figure  I  must  have  presented  to 

5  Burns  upon  the  hill-top  with  his  team.  But  there  was  the 
paddle  in  my  hand.  On  my  tomb,  if  ever  I  have  one,  I 
mean  to  get  these  words  inscribed:  "He  clung  to  his 
paddle." 

The  Cigarette  had  gone  past  a  while  before;  for,  as  I 

10  might  have  observed,  if  I  had  been  a  little  less  pleased  with 
the  universe  at  the  moment,  there  was  a  clear  way  round 
the  tree-top  at  the  farther  side.  He  had  offered  his 
services  to  haul  me  out,  but  as  I  was  then  already  on  my 
elbows,  I  had  declined,  and  sent  him  down  stream  after 

15  the  truant  Arethusa.  The  stream  was  too  rapid  for  a  man 
to  mount  with  one  canoe,  let  alone  two,  upon  his  hands. 
So  I  crawled  along  the  trunk  to  shore,  and  proceeded  down 
the  meadows  by  the  riverside.  I  was  so  cold  that  my 
heart  was  sore.     I  had  now  an  idea  of  my  own,  why  the 

20  reeds  so  bitterly  shivered.  I  could  have  given  any  of 
them  a  lesson.  The  Cigarette  remarked  facetiously,  that 
he  thought  I  was  "  taking  exercise  "  as  I  drew  near,  until 
he  made  out  for  certain  that  I  was  only  twittering  with 
cold.     I  had  a  rub  down  with  a  towel,  and  donned  a  dry 

25  suit  from  the  india-rubber  bag.  But  I  was  not  my  own 
man  again  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  I  had  a  queasy 
sense  that  I  wore  my  last  dry  clothes  upon  my  body. 
The  struggle  had  tired  me;  and  perhaps,  whether  I  knew 
it  or  not,  I  was  a  little  dashed  in  spirit.     The  devouring 

30  element  in  the  universe  had  leaped  out  against  me,  in  this 
green  valley  quickened  by  a  running  stream.  The  bells 
were  all  very  pretty  in  their  way,  but  I  had  heard  some 
of  the  hollow  notes  of  Pan's  music.  Would  the  wicked 
river  drag  me  down  by  the  heels,  indeed  ?  and  look  so  beau- 


The  Oise  In  Flood  67 

tiful  all  the  time?     Nature's  good  humor  was  only  skin 
deep  after  all. 

There  was  still  a  long  way  to  go  by  the  winding  course 
of  the  stream,  and  darkness  had  fallen,  and  a  late  bell 
was  ringing  in  Origny  Sainte-Benoite,  when  we  arrived.  5 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE:   A   BY-DAY 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  church  bells  had 
little  rest;  indeed  I  do  not  think  I  remember  anywhere 
else  so  great  a  choice  of  services  as  were  here  offered  to 
the  devout.  And  while  the  bells  made  merry  in  the  sun- 
5  shine,  all  the  world  with  his  dog  was  out  shooting  among 
the  beets  and  colza. 

In  the  morning  a  hawker  and  his  wife  went  down  the 
street  at  a  foot-pace,  singing  to  a  very  slow,  lamentable 
music  "  O  France,  mes  amours."    i^  brought  everybody 

10  to  the  door;  and  when  our  landlady  called  in  the  man  to 
buy  the  words,  he  had  not  a  copy  of  them  left.  She  was 
not  the  first  nor  the  second  who  had  been  taken  with  the 
song.  There  is  something  very  pathetic  in  the  love  of  the 
French  people,  since  the  war,  for  dismal  patriotic  music- 

15  making.  I  have  watched  a  forester  from  Alsace  while 
some  one  was  singing  "  Les  ?nalheurs  de  la  France,"  at  a 
baptismal  party  in  the  neighborhood  of  Fontainebleau. 
He  arose  from  the  table  and  took  his  son  aside,  close  by 
where  I  was  standing.     "  Listen,  listen,"  he  said,  bearing 

20  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  "  and  remember  this,  my  son." 
A  little  after  he  went  out  into  the  garden  suddenly,  and  I 
could  hear  him  sobbing  in  the  darkness. 

The  humiliation  of  their  arms  and  the  loss  of  Alsace  and 
Lorraine,  made  a  sore  pull  on  the  endurance  of  this  sensi- 

2Sitive  people;  and  their  hearts  are  still  hot,  not  so  much 
lagainst  Germany  as  against  the  Empire.  In  what  other 
country  will  you  find  a  patriotic  ditty  bring  all  the  world 
into  the  street?     But  affliction  heightens  love;  and  we 

68 


1 


Orlgny  Salnte-BenoTte:  a  By-day  69 

shall  never  know  we  are  Englishmen  until  we  have  lost 
India.  Independent  America  is  still  the  cross  of  my  ex- 
istence; I  cannot  think  of  Farmer  George  without  abhor- 
rence; and  I  never  feel  more  warmly  to  my  own  land 
than  when  I  see  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  remember  5 
what  our  empire  might  have  been. 

The  hawker's  little  book,  which  I  purchased,"  was  a 
curious  mixture.  Side  by  side  with  the  flippant,  rowdy 
nonsense  of  the  Paris  music-halls,  there  were  many  pas- 
toral pieces,  not  without  a  touch  of  poetry,  I  thought,  10 
and  instinct  with  the  brave  independence  of  the  poorer 
class  in  France.  There  you  might  read  how  the  wood- 
cutter gloried  in  his  ax,  and  the  gardener  scorned  to  be 
ashamed  of  his  spade.  It  was  not  very  well  written,  this 
poetry  of  labor,  but  the  pluck  of  the  sentiment  redeemed  15 
what  was  weak  or  wordy  in  the  expression.  The  martial 
and  the  patriotic  pieces,  on  the  other  hand,-  were  tearful, 
womanish  productions  one  and  all.  The  poet  had  passed 
under  the  Caudine  Forks;  he  sang  for  an  army  visiting 
the  tomb  of  its  old  renown,  with  arms  reversed ;  and  sang  20 
not  of  victory,  but  of  death.  There  was  a  number  in  the 
hawker's  collection  called  Consents  Francois,  which  may 
rank  among  the  most  dissuasive  war-lyrics  on  record.  It 
would  not  be  possible  to  fight  at  all  in  such  a  spirit. 
The  bravest  conscript  would  turn  pale  if  such  a  ditty  25 
were  struck  up  beside  him  on  the  morning  of  battle ; 
and  whole  regiments  would  pile  their  arms  to  its 
tune. 

If  Fletcher  of  Saltoun  is  in  the  right  about  the  influence 
of  national  songs,  you  would  say  France  was  come  to  a  30 
poor  pass.  But  the  thing  will  work  to  its  own  cure,  and 
a  sound-hearted  and  courageous  people  weary  at  length  of 
sniveling  over  their  disasters.  Already  Paul  Deroulede 
has  written  some  manly  military  verses.     There  is  not 


70  An   Inland  Voyage 

much  of  the  trumpet  note  in  them,  perhaps,  to  stir  a  man's 
heart  in  his  bosom ;  they  lack  the  lyrical  elation,  and 
move  slowly;  but  they  are  written  in  a  grave,  honor- 
able, stoical  spirit,  which  should  carry  soldiers  far  in 
5  a  good  cause.  One  feels  as  if  one  would  like  to  trust 
Deroulede  with  something.  It  will  be  happy  if  he  can  so 
far  inoculate  his  fellow-countrymen  that  they  may  be 
trusted  with  their  own  future.  And  in  the  meantime, 
here  is  an  antidote  to  "  French  Conscripts "  and  much 

ID  other  doleful  versification. 

We  had  left  the  boats  over-night  in  the  custody  of  one 
whom  we  shall  call  Carnival.  I  did  not  properly  catch  his 
name,  and  perhaps  that  was  not  unfortunate  for  him, 
as  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  hand  him  down  with  honor 

15  to  posterity.  To  this  person's  premises  we  strolled  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  found  quite  a  little  deputation  in- 
specting the  canoes.  There  was  a  stout  gentleman  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  river,  which  he  seemed  eager  to  impart. 
There  was  a  very  elegant  young  gentleman  in  a  black  coat, 

20  with  a  smattering  of  English,  who  led  the  talk  at  once  to 
the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Boat  Race.  And  then  there 
were  three  handsome  girls  from  fifteen  to  twenty;  and  an 
old  gentleman  in  a  blouse,  with  no  teeth  to  speak  of,  and 
a  strong  country  accent.     Quite  the  pick  of  Origny,   I 

25  should  suppose. 

The  Cigarette  had  some  mysteries  to  perform  with  his 
rigging  in  the  coach-house;  so  I  was  left  to  do  the  parade 
single-handed.  I  found  myself  very  much  of  a  hero 
whether  I  would  or  not.     The  girls  were  full  of  little 

30  shudderings  over  the  dangers  of  our  journey.  And  I 
thought  it  would  be  ungallant  not  to  take  my  cue  from  the 
ladies.  My  mishap  of  yesterday,  told  in  an  ofif-hand  way, 
produced  a  deep  sensation.  It  w-as  Othello  over  again, 
with  no  less  than  three  Desdemonas  and  a  sprinkling  of 


Orlgny  Sainte-Benoite :  a  By-day  71 

sympathetic  senators  In  the  background.     Never  were  the 
canoes  more  flattered,  or  flattered  more  adroitly. 

"  It  is  like  a  violin,"  cried  one  of  the  girls  In  an  ecstasy. 

"  I   thank   you    for   the   word,   mademoiselle,"   said    I. 
"  All  the  more  since  there  are  people  who  call  out  to  me,  5 
that  It  Is  like  a  coffin." 

"  O !  but  It  Is  really  like  a  violin.     It  is  finished  like  a 
violin,"  she  went  on. 

"  And  polished  like  a  violin,"  added  a  senator. 

"  One  has  only  to  stretch  the  cords,"  concluded  another,  10 
"  and  then  tum-tumty-tum  " — he  Imitated  the  result  with 
spirit. 

Was  not  this  a  graceful  little  ovation?  Where  this 
people  finds  the  secret  of  Its  pretty  speeches,  I  cannot 
imagine;  unless  the  secret  should  be  no  other  than  a  sincere  15 
desire  to  please?  But  then  no  disgrace  Is  attached  in 
France  to  saying  a  thing  neatly;  whereas  in  England,  to 
talk  like  a  book  Is  to  give  In  one's  resignation  to  society. 

The  old  gentleman  In  the  blouse  stole  Into  the  coach- 
house, and  somewhat  irrelevantly  informed  the  Cigarette  20 
that  he  was  the  father  of  the  three  girls  and  four  more: 
quite  an  exploit  for  a  Frenchman. 

"  You    are    very    fortunate,"    answered    the    Cigarette 
politely. 

And  the  old  gentleman,  having  apparently  gained  his  25 
point,  stole  away  again. 

We  all  got  very  friendly  together.  The  girls  proposed 
to  start  with  us  on  the  morrow,  if  you  please!  And  jest- 
ing apart,  every  one  was  anxious  to  know  the  hour  of  our 
departure.  Now,  when  you  are  going  to  crawl  Into  your  30 
canoe  from  a  bad  launch,  a  crowd,  however  friendly.  Is 
undesirable ;  and  so  we  told  them  not  before  twelve,  and 
mentally  determined  to  be  off  by  ten  at  latest. 

Towards  evening,  we  went  abroad  again  to  post  some 


72  An  Inland  Voyage 

letters.     It  was  cool  and  pleasant;  the  long  village  was 
quite  empty,  except  for  one  or  two  urchins  who  followed 
us  as  they  might  have  followed  a  menagerie ;  the  hills  and 
the  tree-tops  looked   in   from  all  sides  through  the  clear 
5  air ;  and  the  bells  were  chiming  for  yet  another  service. 
Suddenly,  we  sighted  the  three  girls  standing,  with  a 
fourth  sister,  in  front  of  a  shop  on  the  wide  selvage  of  the 
roadway.     We  had  been  very  merry  with  them  a  little 
while  ago,   to  be  sure.     But  what  was  the  etiquette  of 
lo  Origny?    Had  it  been  a  country  road,  of  course  we  should 
have  spoken  to  them;  but  here,  under  the  eyes  of  all  the 
gossips,  ought  we  to  do  even  as  much  as  bow?     I  con- 
sulted the  Cigarette. 
"  Look,"  said  he. 
15      I  looked.     There  were  the  four  girls  on  the  same  spot ; 
but  now  four  backs  were  turned  to  us,  very  upright  and 
conscious.      Corporal    Modesty   had    given    the   word   of 
command,  and  the  well-disciplined  picket  had  gone  right- 
about face  like  a  single  person.     They  maintained   this 
20  formation  all  the  while  we  were  in  sight ;  but  we  heard 
them  tittering  among  themselves,  and  the  girl  whom  we 
had  not  met,  laughed  with  open  mouth,  and  even  looked 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  enemy.     I  wonder  was  it  alto- 
gether modesty  after  all?  or  in  part  a  sort  of  country 
25  provocation  ? 

As  we  were  returning  to  the  inn,  we  beheld  something 
floating  in  the  ample  field  of  golden  evening  sky,  above 
the  chalk  cliffs  and  the  trees  that  grow  along  their  summit. 
It  was  too  high  up,  too  large  and  too  steady  for  a  kite; 
30  and  as  it  was  dark  it  could  not  be  a  star.  For  although  a 
star  were  as  black  as  ink  and  as  rugged  as  a  walnut,  so 
amply  does  the  sun  bathe  heaven  with  radiance,  that  it 
would  sparkle  like  a  point  of  light  for  us.  The  village  was 
dotted  with  people  with  their  heads  in  air;  and  the  chil- 


1 


Origny  Sainte-Benoite :  a  By-day  73 

dren  were  in  a  bustle  all  along  the  street  and  far  up  the 
straight  road  that  climbs  the  hill,  where  we  could  still  see 
them  running  in  loose  knots.  It  was  a  balloon,  we  learned, 
which  had  left  Saint  Quentin  at  half-past  five  that  even- 
ing. Mighty  composedly  the  majority  of  the  grown  people  5 
took  it.  But  we  were  English,  and  were  soon  running  up 
the  hill  with  the  best.  Being  travelers  ourselves  in  a  small 
way,  we  would  fain  have  seen  the  other  travelers  alight. 

The  spectacle  was  over  by  the  time  we  gained  the  top  of 
the  hill.  All  the  gold  had  withered  out  of  the  sky,  and  10 
the  balloon  had  disappeared.  Whither?  I  ask  myself; 
caught  up  into  the  seventh  heaven  ?  or  come  safely  to 
land  somewhere  in  the  blue  uneven  distance,  into  which 
the  roadway  dipped  and  melted  before  our  eyes?  Prob- 
ably the  aeronauts  were  already  warming  themselves  at  a  15 
farm  chimney,  for  they  say  it  is  cold  in  these  unhomely 
regions  of  the  air.  The  night  fell  swiftly.  Roadside  trees 
and  disappointed  sightseers,  returning  through  the  mead- 
ows, stood  out  in  black  against  a  margin  of  low  red  sun- 
set. It  was  cheerfuller  to  face  the  other  way,  and  so  down  20 
the  hill  we  went,  with  a  full  moon,  the  color  of  a  melon, 
swinging  high  above  the  wooded  valley,  and  the  white 
cliffs  behind  us  faintly  reddened  by  the  fire  of  the  chalk 
kilns. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  salads  were  being  made  25 
in  Origny  Sainte-Benoite  by  the  river. 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE:  THE  COMPANY 
AT  TABLE 

Although  we  came  late  for  dinner,  the  company  at 
table  treated  us  to  sparkling  wine.  "  That  is  how  we  are 
in  France,"  said  one.  "  Those  who  sit  down  with  us  are 
our  friends."  And  the  rest  applauded. 
5  They  were  three  altogether,  and  an  odd  trio  to  pass  the 
Sunday  with. 

Two  of  them  were  guests  like  ourselves,  both  men  of 
the  north.  One  ruddy,  and  of  a  full  habit  of  body,  with 
copious    black    hair    and    beard,    the    intrepid    hunter    of 

10  France,  who  thought  nothing  so  small,  not  even  a  lark  or 
a  minnow,  but  he  might  vindicate  his  prowess  by  its 
capture.  For  such  a  great,  healthy  man,  his  hair  flourish- 
ing like  Samson's,  his  arteries  running  buckets  of  red 
blood,  to  boast  of  these  infinitesimal  exploits,  produced  a 

15  feeling  of  disproportion  in  the  world,  as  when  a  steam- 
hammer  is  set  to  cracking  nuts.  The  other  was  a  quiet, 
subdued  person,  blond  and  lymphatic  and  sad,  with  some- 
thing the  look  of  a  Dane:  "  Tristes  tetes  de  Danois!"  as 
Gaston  Lafenestre  used  to  say. 

20  I  must  not  let  that  name  go  by  without  a  word  for  the 
best  of  all  good  fellows  now  gone  down  into  the  dust.  We 
shall  never  again  see  Gaston  in  his  forest  costume — he 
was  Gaston  with  all  the  world,  in  affection,  not  in  disre- 
spect— nor  hear  him   wake   the  echoes  of   Fontainebleau 

25  with  the  woodland  horn.  Never  again  shall  his  kind  smile 
put  peace  among  all  races  of  artistic  men,  and  make  the 
Englishman  at  home  in  France.     Never  more  shall  the 

74 


Origny  Salnte-Benoite  :  the  Company  at  Table     75 

sheep,  who  were  not  more  innocent  at  heart  than  he,  sit  all 
unconsciously  for  his  industrious  pencil.  He  died  too 
early,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  beginning  to  put 
forth  fresh  sprouts,  and  blossom  into  something  worthy  of 
himself;  and  yet  none  who  knew  him  will  think  he  lived  in  5 
vain.  I  never  knew  a  man  so  little,  for  whom  yet  I  had  so 
much  affection;  and  I  find  it  a  good  test  of  others,  how 
much  they  had  learned  to  understand  and  value  him. 
His  was  indeed  a  good  influence  in  life  while  he  was  still 
among  us ;  he  had  a  fresh  laugh,  it  did  you  good  to  see  him ;  10 
and  however  sad  he  may  have  been  at  heart,  he  always 
bore  a  bold  and  cheerful  countenance,  and  took  fortune's 
worst  as  it  were  the  showers  of  spring.  But  now  his  mo- 
ther sits  alone  by  the  side  of  Fontainebleau  woods,  where 
he  gathered  mushrooms  in  his  hardy  and  penurious  youth.  15 

Many  of  his  pictures  found  their  way  across  the  chan- 
nel: besides  those  which  were  stolen,  when  a  dastardly 
Yankee  left  him  alone  in  London  with  two  English  pence, 
and  perhaps  twice  as  many  words  of  English.  If  any  one 
who  reads  these  lines  should  have  a  scene  of  sheep,  in  the  20 
manner  of  Jacques,  with  this  fine  creature's  signature,  let 
him  tell  himself  that  one  of  the  kindest  and  bravest  of  men 
has  lent  a  hand  to  decorate  his  lodging.  There  may  be 
better  pictures  in  the  National  Gallery,  but  not  a  painter 
among  the  generations  had  a  better  heart.  Precious  25 
in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  of  humanity,  the  Psalms  tell 
us,  is  the  death  of  his  saints.  It  had  need  to  be  precious; 
for  it  is  very  costly,  when  by  the  stroke,  a  mother  is  left 
desolate,  and  the  peace-maker,  and  peace-looker,  of  a 
whole  society  is  laid  in  the  ground  with  Caesar  and  the  30 
Twelve  Apostles. 

There  is  something  lacking  among  the  oaks  of  Fontaine- 
bleau ;  and  when  the  dessert  comes  in  at  Barbizon,  people 
look  to  the  door  for  a  figure  that  is  gone. 


76  An  Inland  Voyage 

The  third  of  our  companions  at  Origny  was  no  less  a 
person  than  the  landlady's  husband :  not  properly  the  land- 
lord, since  he  worked  himself  in  a  factory  during  the 
day,  and  came  to  his  own  house  at  evening  as  a  guest: 
5  a  man  worn  to  skin  and  bone  by  perpetual  excitement, 
with  baldish  head,  sharp  features,  and  swift,  shining  eyes. 
On  Saturday,  describing  some  paltry  adventure  at  a  duck- 
hunt,  he  broke  a  plate  into  a  score  of  fragments.  When- 
ever he  made  a  remark,  he  would  look  all  round  the  table, 

ID  with  his  chin  raised,  and  a  spark  of  green  light  in  either 
eye,  seeking  approval.  His  wife  appeared  now  and  again 
in  the  doorway  of  the  room,  where  she  was  superintending 
dinner,  with  a  "  Henri,  you  forget  yourself,"  or  a  "  Henri, 
you  can  surely  talk  without  making  such  a  noise."     In- 

15  deed,  that  was  what  the  honest  fellow  could  not  do.  On 
the  most  trifling  matter,  his  eyes  kindled,  his  fist  visited 
the  table,  and  his  voice  rolled  abroad  in  changeful  thun- 
der. I  never  saw  such  a  petard  of  a  man ;  I  think  the  devil 
was  in  him.  He  had  two  favorite  expressions:  "It  is 
logical,"  or  illogical  as  the  case  might  be:  and  this  other, 
thrown  out  with  a  certain  bravado,  as  a  man  might  hurl 
a  banner,  at  the  beginning  of  many  a  long  and  sonorous 
story:  "I  am  a  proletarian,  you  see."  Indeed,  we  saw  it 
very   well.      God    forbid,   that   ever    I    should    find    him 

25  handling  a  gun  in  Paris  streets.  That  will  not  be  a  good 
moment  for  the  general  public. 

I  thought  his  two  phrases  very  much  represented  the 
good  and  evil  of  his  class,  and  to  some  extent  of  his  coun- 
try.    It  is  a  strong  thing  to  say  what  one  is,  and  not  be 

30  ashamed  of  it ;  even  although  it  be  in  doubtful  taste  to 
repeat  the  statement  too  often  in  one  evening.  I  should 
not  admire  it  in  a  duke,  of  course;  but  as  times  go,  the 
trait  is  honorable  in  a  workman.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
is  not  at  all  a  strong  thing  to  put  one's  reliance  upon  logic; 


Orlgny  Sainte-Benoite :  the  Company  at  Table     77 

and  our  own  logic  particularly,  for  it  is  generally  wrong. 
We  never  know  where  we  are  to  end,  if  once  we  begin 
following  words  or  doctors.  There  is  an  upright  stock  in 
a  man's  own  heart,  that  is  trustier  than  any  syllogism;  and 
the  eyes,  and  the  sympathies,  and  appetites  know  a  thing  or  5 
two  that  have  never  yet  been  stated  in  controversy.  Rea- 
sons are  as  plentiful  as  blackberries;  and  like  fisticuffs,  they 
serve  impartially  with  all  sides.  Doctrines  do  not  stand 
or  fall  by  their  proofs,  and  are  only  logical  in  so  far  as 
they  are  cleverly  put.  An  able  controversialist  no  more  10 
than  an  able  general  demonstrates  the  justice  of  his  cause. 
But  France  is  all  gone  wandering  after  one  or  two  big 
words;  it  will  take  some  time  before  they  can  be  satisfied 
that  they  are  no  more  than  words,  however  big;  and  when 
once  that  is  done,  they  will  perhaps  find  logic  less  15 
diverting. 

The  conversation  opened  with  details  of  the  day's 
shooting.  When  all  the  sportsmen  of  a  village  shoot  over 
the  village  territory  pro  indiviso,  it  is  plain  that  many 
questions  of  etiquette  and  priority  must  arise.  20 

"  Here  now,"  cried  the  landlord,  brandishing  a  plate, 
"  here  is  a  field  of  beet-root.  Well.  Here  am  I  then. 
I  advance,  do  I  not?  Eh  bien!  sacristi,"  and  the  state- 
ment, waxing  louder,  rolls  off  into  a  reverberation  of 
oaths,  the  speaker  glaring  about  for  sympathy,  and  every-  25 
body  nodding  his  head  to  him  in  the  name  of 
peace. 

The  ruddy  Northman  told  some  tales  of  his  own  prowess 
in  keeping  order:  notably  one  of  a  Marquis. 

"  Marquis,"  I  said,  "  if  you  take  another  step  I  fire  upon  30 
you.     You  have  committed  a  dirtiness.  Marquis." 

Whereupon,  it  appeared,  the  Marquis  touched  his  cap 
and  withdrew. 

The  landlord  applauded  noisily.     "It  was, well  done," 


78  An   Inland  Voyage 

he  said.  "  He  did  all  that  he  could.  He  admitted  he  was 
wrong."  And  then  oath  upon  oath.  He  was  no  marquis- 
lover  either,  but  he  had  a  sense  of  justice  in  him,  this 
proletarian  host  of  ours. 

5  From  the  matter  of  hunting,  the  talk  veered  into  a 
general  comparison  of  Paris  and  the  country.  The  pro- 
letarian beat  the  table  like  a  drum  in  praise  of  Paris. 
"  What  is  Paris  ?  Paris  is  the  cream  of  France.  There  are 
no   Parisians:   it   is   you   and   I   and   everybody  who   are 

10  Parisians.  A  man  has  eighty  chances  per  cent,  to  get 
on  in  the  world  in  Paris."  And  he  drew  a  vivid  sketch  of 
the  workman  in  a  den  no  bigger  than  a  dog-hutch,  making 
articles  that  were  to  go  all  over  the  world.  "Eh  bien, 
quoi,  c'est  magniftqiie,  qa!"  cried  he. 

15  The  sad  Northman  interfered  in  praise  of  a  peasant's 
life;  he  thought  Paris  bad  for  men  and  women.  "Cen- 
tralization," said  he — 

But  the  landlord  was  at  his  throat  in  a  moment.  It  was 
all  logical,  he  showed  him;  and  all  magnificent.     "What 

20  a  spectacle!  What  a  glance  for  an  eye!  "  And  the  dishes 
reeled  upon  the  table  under  a  cannonade  of  blows. 

Seeking  to  make  peace,  I  threw  in  a  word  in  praise  of 
the  liberty  of  opinion  in  France.  I  could  hardly  have  shot 
more  amiss.     There  was  an  instant  silence,  and  a  great 

25  wagging  of  significant  heads.  They  did  not  fancy  the 
subject,  it  was  plain;  but  they  gave  me  to  understand 
that  the  sad  Northman  was  a  martyr  on  account  of 
his  views.  "Ask  him  a  bit,"  said  they.  "Just  ask 
him." 

30  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  he  in  his  quiet  w^ay,  answering  me, 
although  I  had  not  spoken,  "  I  am  afraid  there  is  less 
liberty  of  opinion  in  France  than  you  may  imagine." 
And  with  that  he  dropped  his  eyes,  and  seemed  to  consider 
the  subject  at  an  end. 


Orlgny  Sainte-Benoite  :  the  Company  at  Table     79 

Our  curiosity  was  mightily  excited  at  this.  How,  or 
why,  or  when,  was  this  lymphatic  bagman  martyred? 
We  concluded  at  once  it  was  on  some  religious  question, 
and  brushed  up  our  memories  of  the  Inquisition,  which 
were  principally  drawn  from  Poe's  horrid  story,  and  the  5 
sermon  in  Tristram  Shandy,  I  believe. 

On  the  morrow  we  had  an  opportunity  of  going  further 
into  the  question ;  for  when  we  rose  very  early  to  avoid  a 
sympathizing  deputation  at  our  departure,  we  found  the 
hero  up  before  us.     He  was  breaking  his  fast  on  white  10 
wine  and  raw  onions,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  character  of 
martyr,   I  conclude.     We  had   a  long  conversation,  and 
made  out  what  we  wanted  in  spite  of  his  reserve.     But 
here  was  a  truly  curious  circumstance.     It  seems  possible 
for  two  Scotchmen  and  a  Frenchman  to  discuss  during  15 
a  long  half  hour,  and  each  nationality  have  a  different 
idea  in  view  throughout.     It  was  not  till  the  very  end  that 
we  discovered  his  heresy  had  been  political,  or   that  he 
suspected  our  mistake.     The  terms  and  spirit  in  which  he 
spoke  of  his  political  beliefs  were,  in  our  eyes,  suited  to  20 
religious  beliefs.     And  vice  versa. 

Nothing  could  be  more  characteristic  of  the  two  coun- 
tries.   Politics  are  the  religion  of  France ;  as  Nanty  Ewart 

would  have  said,  "  A  d d  bad  religion  " ;  while  we, 

at  home,  keep  most  of  our  bitterness  for  little  differ-  25 
ences  about  a  hymn-book,  or  a  Hebrew  word  which,  per- 
haps, neither  of  the  parties  can  translate.  And  perhaps 
the  misconception  is  typical  of  many  others  that  may  never 
be  cleared  up:  not  only  between  people  of  different  race, 
but  between  those  of  different  sex.  30 

As  for  our  friend's  martyrdom,  he  was  a  Communist,  or 
perhaps  only  a  Communard,  which  is  a  very  different 
thing;  and  had  lost  one  or  more  situations  in  conse- 
quence.    I  think  he  had  also  been  rejected  in  marriage; 


8o  An  Inland  Voyage 

but  perhaps  he  had  a  sentimental  way  of  consider- 
ing business  which  deceived  me.  He  was  a  mild,  gen- 
tle creature,  anyway;  and  I  hope  he  has  got  a  better 
situation,  and  married  a  more  suitable  wife  since 
5  then. 


DOWN  THE  OISE:  TO  MOY 

CARNIVAL  notoriously  cheated  us  at  first.  Finding  us 
easy  in  our  ways,  he  regretted  having  let  us  off  so  cheaply ; 
and  taking  me  aside,  told  me  a  cock-and-bull  story 
with  the  moral  of  another  five  francs  for  the  narrator. 
The  thing  was  palpably  absurd ;  but  I  paid  up,  and  at  once  s 
dropped  all  friendliness  of  manner,  and  kept  him  in  his 
place  as  an  inferior  with  freezing  British  dignity.  He  saw 
in  a  moment  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  killed  a  willing 
horse ;  his  face  fell ;  I  am  sure  he  would  have  refunded  if 
he  could  only  have  thought  of  a  decent  pretext.  He  wished  lo 
me  to  drink  with  him,  but  I  would  none  of  his  drinks. 
He  grew  pathetically  tender  in  his  professions ;  but  I 
walked  beside  him  in  silence  or  answered  him  in  stately 
courtesies;  and  when  we  got  to  the  landing-place,  passed 
the  word  in  English  slang  to  the  Cigarette.  iS 

In  spite  of  the  false  scent  we  had  thrown  out  the  day 
before,  there  must  have  been  fifty  people  about  the  bridge. 
We  were  as  pleasant  as  we  could  be  with  all  but  Carnival. 
We  said  good-by,  shaking  hands  with  the  old  gentleman 
who  knew  the  river  and  the  young  gentleman  who  had  a  20 
smattering  of  English ;  but  never  a  word  for  Carnival. 
Poor  Carnival,  here  was  a  humiliation.  He  who  had  been 
so  much  identified  with  the  canoes,  who  had  given  orders 
in  our  name,  who  had  shown  off  the  boats  and  even  the 
boatmen  like  a  private  exhibition  of  his  own,  to  be  now  so  25 
publicly  shamed  by  the  lions  of  his  caravan !  I  never  saw 
anybody  look  more  crest-fallen  than  he.     He  hung  in  the 

81 


82  An  Inland  Voyage 

background,  coming  timidly  forward  ever  and  again  as 
he  thought  he  saw  some  symptom  of  a  relenting  humor, 
and  falling  hurriedly  back  when  he  encountered  a  cold 
stare.  Let  us  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  him. 
S  I  would  not  have  mentioned  Carnival's  peccadillo  had 
not  the  thing  been  so  uncommon  in  France.  This,  for 
instance,  was  the  only  case  of  dishonesty  or  even  sharp 
practice  In  our  whole  voyage.  We  talk  very  much  about 
our  honesty  In  England.     It  Is  a  good  rule  to  be  on  your 

10  guard  wherever  you  hear  great  professions  about  a  very 
little  piece  of  virtue.  If  the  English  could  only  hear 
how  they  are  spoken  of  abroad,  they  might  confine 
themselves  for  a  while  to  remedying  the  fact;  and  per- 
haps even  when  that  was  done,   give  us  fewer  of  their 

15  airs. 

The  young  ladies,  the  graces  of  Origny,  were  not  present 
at  our  start,  but  when  we  got  round  to  the  second  bridge, 
behold  It  was  black  with  sight-seers!  We  were  loudly 
cheered,  and  for  a  good  way  below,  young  lads  and  lasses 

20  ran  along  the  bank  still  cheering.  What  with  current  and 
paddling,  we  were  flashing  along  like  swallows.  It  was 
no  joke  to  keep  up  with  us  upon  the  woody  shore.  But  the 
girls  picked  up  their  skirts,  as  If  they  were  sure  they  had 
good   ankles,   and    followed   until   their   breath   was   out. 

25  The  last  to  weary  were  the  three  graces  and  a  couple  of 
companions;  and  just  as  they  too  had  had  enough,  the 
foremost  of  the  three  leaped  upon  a  tree  stump  and  kissed 
her  hand  to  the  canoeists.  Not  Diana  herself,  although 
this  was  more  of  a  Venus  after  all,  could  have  done  a 

30  graceful  thing  more  gracefully.  "  Come  back  again!  "  she 
cried;  and  all  the  others  echoed  her;  and  the  hills  about 
Origny  repeated  the  words,  "  Come  back."  But  the  river 
had  us  round  an  angle  In  a  twinkling,  and  we  were  alone 
with  the  green  trees  and  running  water. 


Down  the  Oise:  to  Moy  83 

Come  back?     There  is  no  coming  back,  young  ladies, 
on  the  impetuous  stream  of  life. 

The  merchant  bows  unto  the  seaman's  star, 
The  plowman  from  the  sun  his  season  takes. 

And  we  must  all  set  our  pocket  watches  by  the  clock  of  5 
fate.  There  is  a  headlong,  forthright  tide,  that  bears 
away  man  with  his  fancies  like  a  straw,  and  runs  fast  in 
time  and  space.  It  is  full  of  curves  like  this,  your  winding 
river  of  the  Oise ;  and  lingers  and  returns  in  pleasant 
pastorals;  and  yet,  rightly  thought  upon,  never  returns  10 
at  all.  For  though  it  should  revisit  the  same  acre  of 
meadow  in  the  same  hour,  it  will  have  made  an  ample 
sweep  betweenwhiles ;  many  little  streams  will  have  fallen 
in ;  many  exhalations  risen  towards  the  sun ;  and  even 
although  it  were  the  same  acre,  it  will  no  more  be  the  same  15 
river  of  Oise.  And  thus,  O  graces  of  Origny,  although  the 
wandering  fortune  of  my  life  should  carry  me  back  again 
to  where  you  await  death's  whistle  by  the  river,  that  will 
not  be  the  old  I  who  walks  the  street;  and  those  wives 
and  mothers,  say,  will  those  be  you?  20 

There  was  never  any  mistake  about  the  Oise,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact.  In  these  upper  reaches,  it  was  still  in  a  pro- 
digious hurry  for  the  sea.  It  ran  so  fast  and  merrily, 
through  all  the  windings  of  its  channel,  that  I  strained  my 
thumb,  fighting  with  the  rapids,  and  had  to  paddle  all  the  25 
rest  of  the  way  with  one  hand  turned  up.  Sometimes, 
it  had  to  serve  mills;  and  being  still  a  little  river,  ran  very 
dry  and  shallow  in  the  meanwhile.  We  had  to  put  our 
legs  out  of  the  boat,  and  shove  ourselves  ofiF  the  sand  of 
the  bottom  with  our  feet.  And  still  it  went  on  its  way  30 
singing  among  the  poplars,  and  making  a  green  valley  in 
the  world.  After  a  good  woman,  and  a  good  book,  and 
tobacco,  there  is  nothing  so  agreeable  on  earth  as  a  river. 


84  An  Inland  Voyage 

I  forgave  it  its  attempt  on  my  life;  which  was  after  all 
one  part  owing  to  the  unruly  winds  of  heaven  that  had 
blown  down  the  tree,  one  part  to  my  own  mismanagement, 
and  only  a  third  part  to  the  river  itself,  and  that  not  out 
5  of  malice,  but  from  its  great  pre-occupation  over  its  busi- 
ness of  getting  to  the  sea.  A  diflficult  business,  too;  for 
the  detours  it  had  to  make  are  not  to  be  counted.  The 
geographers  seem  to  have  given  up  the  attempt ;  for  I 
found    no   map    represent   the    infinite    contortion    of   its 

10  course.  A  fact  will  say  more  than  any  of  them.  After 
we  had  been  some  hours,  three  if  I  mistake  not,  flitting  by 
the  trees  at  this  smooth,  breakneck  gallop,  when  we  came 
upon  a  hamlet  and  asked  where  we  were,  we  had  got  no 
farther  than  four  kilometers  (say  two  miles  and  a  half) 

15  from  Origny.  If  it  were  not  for  the  honor  of  the  thing 
(in  the  Scotch  saying),  we  might  almost  as  well  have  been 
standing  still. 

We  lunched   on  a  meadow   inside  a  parallelogram  of 
poplars.     The  leaves  danced  and  prattled  in  the  wind  all 

20  round  about  us.  The  river  hurried  on  meanwhile,  and 
seemed  to  chide  at  our  delay.  Little  we  cared.  The 
river  knew  where  it  was  going;  not  so  we:  the  less  our 
hurry,  where  we  found  good  quarters  and  a  pleasant 
theater  for  a  pipe.    At  that  hour,  stockbrokers  were  shout- 

25  ing  in  Paris  Bourse  for  two  or  three  per  cent. ;  but  we 
minded  them  as  little  as  the  sliding  stream,  and  sacrificed 
a  hecatomb  of  minutes  to  the  gods  of  tobacco  and  digestion. 
Hurry  is  the  resource  of  the  faithless.  Where  a  man  can 
trust  his  own  heart,  and  those  of  his  friends,  to-morrow  is 

30  as  good  as  to-day.  And  if  he  die  in  the  meanwhile,  why, 
then,  there  he  dies,  and  the  question  is  solved. 

We  had  to  take  to  the  canal  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon ;  because,  where  it  crossed  the  river,  there  was,  not  a  ' 
bridge,  but  a  siphon.     If  it  had  not  been  for  an  excited 


Down  the  Oise:  to  Moy  85 

fellow  on  the  bank,  we  should  have  paddled  right  into  the 
siphon,  and  thenceforward  not  paddled  any  more.  We 
met  a  man,  a  gentleman,  on  the  tow-path,  who  was  much 
interested  in  our  cruise.  And  I  was  witness  to  a  strange 
seizure  of  lying  siiffered  by  the  Cigarette:  who,  because  5 
his  knife  came  from  Norway,  narrated  all  sorts  of  adven- 
tures in  that  country,  where  he  has  never  been.  He  was 
quite  feverish  at  the  end,  and  pleaded  demoniacal  pos- 
session. 

Moy  (pronounced  Moy)   was  a  pleasant  little  village,  10 
gathered  round  a  chateau  in  a  moat.     The  air  was  per- 
fumed with  hemp  from  neighboring  fields.    At  the  Golden 
Sheep,  we  found  excellent  entertainment.     German  shells 
from  the  siege  of  La  Fere,  Niirnberg  figures,  gold-fish  in 
a  bowl,  and  all  manner  of  knick-knacks,  embellished  the  15 
public   room.     The  landlady   was   a  stout,   plain,   short- 
sighted, motherly  body,  with  something  not  far  short  of 
a  genius  for  cookery.     She  had  a  guess  of  her  excellence 
herself.    After  every  dish  was  sent  in,  she  would  come  and 
look  on  at  the  dinner  for  a  while,  with  puckered,  blinking  20 
eyes.    "  C'est  ban,  n'est-ce  pas?  "  she  would  say ;  and  when 
she  had  received  a  proper  answer,  she  disappeared  into  the 
kitchen.     That  common  French  dish,  partridge  and  cab- 
bages, became  a  new  thing  in  my  eyes  at  the  Golden  Sheep ; 
and  many  subsequent  dinners  have  bitterly  disappointed  25 
me  in  consequence.     Sweet  was  our  rest  in  the  Golden 
Sheep  at  Moy. 


LA  FERE  OF  CURSED  MEMORY 

We  lingered  in  Moy  a  good  part  of  the  day,  for  we  were 
fond  of  being  philosophical,  and  scorned  long  journeys  and 
early  starts  on  principle.  The  place,  moreover,  invited 
to  repose.  People  in  elaborate  shooting  costumes  sallied 
5  from  the  chateau  with  guns  and  game-bags ;  and  this  was 
a  pleasure  in  itself,  to  remain  behind  while  these  elegant 
pleasure-seekers  took  the  first  of  the  morning.  In  this 
way,  all  the  world  may  be  an  aristocrat,  and  play  the 
duke  among  marquises,  and  the  reigning  monarch  among 

10  dukes,  if  he  will  only  outvie  them  in  tranquillity.  An  im- 
perturbable demeanor  comes  from  perfect  patience.  Quiet 
minds  cannot  be  perplexed  or  frightened,  but  go  on  in 
fortune  or  misfortune  at  their  own  private  pace,  like  a 
clock  during  a  thunderstorm. 

15  We  made  a  very  short  day  of  it  to  La  Fere ;  but  the  dusk 
was  falling,  and  a  small  rain  had  begun  before  we  stowed 
the  boats.  La  Fere  is  a  fortified  town  in  a  plain,  and  has 
two  belts  of  rampart.  Between  the  first  and  the  second, 
extends  a  region  of  waste  land  and   cultivated   patches. 

20  Here  and  there  along  the  wayside  were  posters  forbidding 
trespass  in  the  name  of  military  engineering.  At  last, 
a  second  gateway  admitted  us  to  the  town  itself.  Lighted 
windows  looked  gladsome,  whiffs  of  comfortable  cookery 
came  abroad  upon  the  air.     The  town  was  full  of  the 

25  military  reserve,  out  for  the  French  Autumn  manoeuvers, 
and  the  reservists  walked  speedily  and  wore  their  formi- 
dable great-coats.  It  was  a  fine  night  to  be  within  doors 
over  dinner,  and  hear  the  rain  upon  the  windows. 

86 


La   Fere  of  Cursed  Memory  87 

The  Cigarette  and  I  could  not  sufficiently  congratulate 
each  other  on  the  prospect,  for  we  had  been  told  there  was 
a  capital  inn  at  La  Fere,  Such  a  dinner  as  we  were  going 
to  eat!  such  beds  as  we  were  to  sleep  in! — and  all  the 
while  the  rain  raining  on*  houseless  folk  over  all  the  pop-  5 
lared  countryside!  It  made  our  mouths  water.  The 
inn  bore  the  name  of  some  woodland  animal,  stag,  or  hart, 
or  hind,  I  forget  which.  But  I  shall  never  forget  how 
spacious  and  how  eminently  habitable  it  looked  as  we  drew 
near.  The  carriage  entry  was  lighted  up,  not  by  intention,  10 
but  from  the  mere  superfluity  of  fire  and  candle  in  the 
house.  A  rattle  of  many  dishes  came  to  our  ears;  we 
sighted  a  great  field  of  tablecloth ;  the  kitchen  glowed  like 
a  forge  and  smelt  like  a  garden  of  things  to  eat. 

Into   this,   the   inmost  shrine,   and   physiological   heart,  15 
of  a  hostelry,  with  all  its  furnaces  in  action,  and  all  its 
dressers  charged  with  viands,  you  are  now  to  suppose  us 
making  our   triumphal   entry,   a   pair   of   damp   rag-and- 
bone  men,  each  with  a  limp   india-rubber  bag  upon  his 
arm.    I  do  not  believe  I  have  a  sound  view  of  that  kitchen ;  20 
I  saw  it  through  a  sort  of  glory:  but  it  seemed  to  me 
crowded  with  the  snowy  caps  of  cookmen,  who  all  turned 
round  from  their  saucepans  and  looked  at  us  with  surprise. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  the  landlady,  however:  there 
she  was,  heading  her  army,  a  flushed,  angry  woman,  full  of  25 
affairs.      Her    I    asked    politely — too    politely,    thinks   the 
Cigarette — if  we  could  have  beds:  she  surveying  us  coldly 
from  head  to  foot. 

"You  will  find  beds  in  the  suburb,"  she  remarked. 
"  We  are  too  busy  for  the  like  of  you."  30 

If  we  could  make  an  entrance,  change  our  clothes,  and 
order  a  bottle  of  wine,  I  felt  sure  we  could  put  things 
right;  so  said  I:  "If  we  cannot  sleep,  we  may  at  least 
dine," — and  was  for  depositing  my  bag. 


88  An   Inland  Voyage 

What  a  terrible  convulsion  of  nature  was  that  which 
followed  in  the  landlady's  face!  She  made  a  run  at  us, 
and  stamped  her  foot. 

"Out    with    you — out    of   the    door!"    she    screeched. 
5  "  Sortez!  sortez!  sortez  par  la'porte!" 

I  do  not  know  how  it  happened,  but  next  moment  we 
were  out  in  the  rain  and  darkness,  and  I  was  cursing  before 
the  carriage  entry  like  a  disappointed  mendicant.  Where 
were  the  boating  men  of  Belgium?  where  the  Judge  and 

10  his  good  wines?  and  where  the  graces  of  Origny?  Black, 
black  was  the  night  after  the  firelit  kitchen ;  but  what  was 
that  to  the  blackness  in  our  heart?  This  was  not  the  first 
time  that  I  have  been  refused  a  lodging.  Often  and  often 
have  I  planned  what  I  should  do  if  such  a  misadventure 

15  happened  to  me  again.  And  nothing  is  easier  to  plan. 
But  to  put  in  execution,  with  the  heart  boiling  at  the 
indignity?  Try  it;  try  it  only  once;  and  tell  me  what 
you  did. 

It  is  all  very  fine  to  talk  about  tramps  and  morality. 

20  Six  hours  of  police  surveillance  (such  as  I  have  had),  or 
one  brutal  rejection  from  an  inn  door,  change  your  views 
upon  the  subject  like  a  course  of  lectures.  As  long  as  you 
keep  in  the  upper  regions,  with  all  the  world  bowing  to 
you  as  you  go,  social  arrangements  have   a  very  hand- 

25  some  air;  but  once  get  under  the  wheels,  and  you  wish 
society  were  at  the  devil.  I  will  give  most  respectable 
men  a  fortnight  of  such  a  life,  and  then  I  will  offer  them 
twopence  for  what  remains  of  their  morality. 

For  my  part,  when  I  was  turned  out  of  the  Stag,  or  the 

30  Hind,  or  whatever  it  was,  I  would  have  set  the  temple  of 
Diana  on  fire,  if  it  had  been  handy.  There  was  no  crime 
complete  enough  to  express  my  disapproval  of  human  in- 
stitutions. As  for  the  Cigarette^  I  never  knew  a  man  so 
altered.     "We  have  been  taken  for  pedlars  again,"  said 


I 


La  Fere  of  Cursed  Memory  89 

he.  "Good  God,  what  it  must  be  to  be  a  pedlar  in 
reality!"  He  particularized  a  complaint  for  every  joint 
in  the  landlady's  body,  Timon  was  a  philanthropist 
alongside  of  him.  And  then,  when  he  was  at  the  top  of 
his  maledictory  bent,  he  v/ould  suddenly  break  away  and  5 
begin  whimperingly  to  commiserate  the  poor.  "  I  hope  to 
God,"  he  said, — and  I  trust  the  prayer  was  answered, — 
"  that  I  shall  never  be  uncivil  to  a  pedlar."  Was  this  the 
imperturbable  Cigarette?  This,  this  was  he.  O  change 
beyond  report,  thought,  or  belief!  10 

Meantime  the  heaven  wept  upon  our  heads;  and  the 
windows  grew  brighter  as  the  night  increased  in  darkness. 
We  trudged  in  and  out  of  La  Fere  streets ;  we  saw  shops, 
and  private  houses  where  people  were  copiously  dining; 
we  saw  stables  where  carters'  nags  had  plenty  of  fodder  15 
and  clean  straw;  we  saw  no  end  of  reservists,  who  were 
very  sorry  for  themselves  this  wet  night,  I  doubt  not,  and 
yearned  for  their  country  homes ;  but  had  they  not  each 
man  his  place  in  La  Fere  barracks?  And  we,  what  had 
we?  20 

There  seemed  to  be  no  other  inn  in  the  whole  town. 
People  gave  us  directions,  which  we  followed  as  best  we 
could,  generally  with  the  effect  of  bringing  us  out  again 
upon  the  scene  of  our  disgrace.  We  were  very  sad  people 
indeed  by  the  time  we  had  gone  all  over  La  Fere ;  and  the  23 
Cigarette  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  lie  under  a 
poplar  and  sup  off  a  loaf  of  bread.  But  right  at  the  other 
end,  the  house  next  the  towngate  was  full  of  light  and 
bustle.  ''  Bazin,  aubergiste,  loge  a  pied,"  was  the  sign. 
"A  la  Croix  de  Malte."     There  were  we  received.  30 

The  room  was  full  of  noisy  reservists  drinking  and 
smoking;  and  we  were  very  glad  indeed  when  the  drums 
and  bugles  began  to  go  about  the  streets,  and  one  and 
all  had  to  snatch  shakoes  and  be  off  for  the  barracks. 


90  An   Inland  Voyage 

Bazin  was  a  tall  man,  running  to  fat :  soft-spoken,  with 
delicate,  gentle  face.  We  asked  him  to  share  our  wine; 
but  he  excused  himself,  having  pledged  reservists  all  day 
long.  This  was  a  very  different  type  of  the  workman- 
5  innkeeper  from  the  bawling  disputatious  fellow  at  Origny. 
He  also  loved  Paris,  where  he  had  worked  as  a  decorative 
painter  in  his  youth.  There  were  such  opportunities  for 
self-instruction  there,  he  said.  And  if  any  one  has  read 
Zola's  description  of  the  workman's  marriage  party  visit- 

10  ing  the  Louvre,  they  would  do  well  to  have  heard  Bazin 
by  way  of  antidote.  He  had  delighted  in  the  museums  in  his 
youth.  "One  sees  there  little  miracles  of  work,"  he  said; 
"  that  is  what  makes  a  good  w^orkman ;  it  kindles  a  spark," 
We  asked  him,  how  he  managed   in   La  Fere.     "  I   am 

15  married,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  my  pretty  children.     But 

frankly,  it  is  no  life  at  all.     From  morning  to  night,  I 

pledge  a  pack  of  good  enough  fellows  who  know  nothing." 

It  faired  as  the  night  went  on,  and  the  moon  came  out  of 

the  clouds.     We  sat  in  front  of  the  door,  talking  softly 

20  with  Bazin.  At  the  guard-house  opposite,  the  guard  was 
being  for  ever  turned  out,  as  trains  of  field  artillery  kept 
clanking  in  out  of  the  night,  or  patrols  of  horsemen  trotted 
by  in  their  cloaks.  Madame  Bazin  came  out  after  a  while; 
she  was  tired  with  her  day's  work,   I  suppose;  and  she 

25  nestled  up  to  her  husband  and  laid  her  head   upon  his 

breast.    He  had  his  arm  about  her  and  kept  gently  patting 

her  on  the  shoulder.    I  think  Bazin  was  right,  and  he  was 

really  married.     Of  how  few  people  can  the  same  be  said ! 

Little  did  the  Bazins  know  how  much  they  served  us. 

30  We  were  charged  for  candles,  for  food  and  drink,  and  for 
the  beds  we  slept  in.  But  there  was  nothing  in  the  bill  for 
the  husband's  pleasant  talk;  nor  for  the  pretty  spectacle 
of  their  married  life.  And  there  was  yet  another  item 
uncharged.     For  these  people's  politeness  really  set  us  up 


La  Fere  of  Cursed  Memory  911 

again  in  our  own  esteem.  We  had  a  thirst  for  considera- 
tion ;  the  sense  of  insult  was  still  hot  in  our  spirits ;  and 
civil  usage  seemed  to  restore  us  to  our  position  in  the 
world. 

/  How  little  we  pay  our  way  in  life !  Although  we  have  5 
our  purses  continually  in  our  hand  the  better  part  of 
service  goes  still  unrewarded.  But  I  like  to  fancy  that  a 
grateful  spirit  gives  as  good  as  it  gets.  Perhaps  the  Bazins 
knew  how  much  I  liked  them?  perhaps  they,  also,  were 
healed  of  some  slights  by  the  thanks  that  I  gave  them  in  10 
my  manner? 


DOWN  THE  OISE:  THROUGH  THE  GOLDEN 
VALLEY 

Below  La  Fere  the  river  runs  through  a  piece  of  open 
pastoral  country;  green,  opulent,  loved  by  breeders;  called 
the  Golden  Valley.  In  wide  sweeps,  and  with  a  swift 
and  equable  gallop,  the  ceaseless  stream  of  water  visits 
5  and  makes  green  the  fields.  Kine,  and  horses,  and  little 
humorous  donkeys,  browse  together  in  the  meadows,  and 
come  down  in  troops  to  the  riverside  to  drink.  They  make 
a  strange  feature  in  the  landscape;  above  all  when  startled, 
and  you  see  them  galloping  to  and  fro,  with  their  incon- 

10  gruous  forms  and  faces.  It  gives  a  feeling  as  of  great, 
unfenced  pampas,  and  the  herds  of  wandering  nations. 
There  were  hills  in  the  distance  upon  either  hand ;  and  on 
one  side,  the  river  sometimes  bordered  on  the  wooded  spurs 
of  Coucy  and  St.  Gobain. 

15  The  artillery  were  practising  at  La  Fere ;  and  soon  the 
cannon  of  heaven  joined  in  that  loud  play.  Two  conti- 
nents of  cloud  met  and  exchanged  salvos  overhead ;  while 
all  round  the  horizon  we  could  see  sunshine  and  clear 
air  upon  the  hills.    WTiat  with  the  guns  and  the  thunder, 

20  the  herds  were  all  frighted  in  the  Golden  Valley.  We 
could  see  them  tossing  their  heads,  and  running  to  and  fro 
in  timorous  indecision ;  and  when  they  had  made  up  their 
minds,  and  the  donkey  followed  the  horse,  and  the  cow 
was  after  the  donkey,  we  could  hear  their  hooves  thunder- 

25  ing  abroad  over  the  meadows.  It  had  a  martial  sound, 
like  cavalry  charges.  And  altogether,  as  far  as  the  ears  are 
concerned,  we  had  a  very  rousing  battle  piece,  performed 
for  our  amusement. 

92 


I 


Down  the  Oise :  Through  the  Golden  Valley     93 

At  last,  the  guns  and  the  thunder  dropped  off;  the  sun 
shone  on  the  wet  meadows;  the  air  was  scented  with  the 
breath  of  rejoicing  trees  and  grass;  and  the  river  kept  un- 
weariedly  carrying  us  on  at  its  best  pace.  There  was  a 
manufacturing  district  about  Chauny;  and  after  that  the  5 
banks  grew  so  high  that  they  hid  the  adjacent  country,  and 
we  could  see  nothing  but  clay  sides,  and  one  willow  after 
another.  Only,  here  and  there,  we  passed  by  a  village  or 
a  ferry,  and  some  wondering  child  upon  the  bank  would 
stare  after  us  until  we  turned  the  corner.  I  dare  say  we  10 
continued  to  paddle  in  that  child's  dreams  for  many  a 
night  after. 

Sun  and  shower  alternated  like  day  and  night,  making 
the  hours  longer  by   their  variety.     When   the  showers 
were  heavy  I  could  feel  each  drop  striking  through  my  15 
jersey  to  my  warm  skin ;  and  the  accumulation  of  small 
shocks  put  me  nearly  beside  myself.     I  decided  I  should 
buy  a  mackintosh  at  Noyon.     It  is  nothing  to  get  wet; 
but  the  misery  of  these  individual  pricks  of  cold  all  over 
my  body  at  the  same  instant  of  time,  made  me  flail  the  20 
water  with  my  paddle  like  a  madman.    The  Cigarette  was  . 
greatly  amused  by  these  ebullitions.*    It  gave  him  some- 
thing else  to  look  at,  besides  clay  banks  and  willows. 

All  the  time,  the  river  stole  awayli.ke  a  thief  in  straight 
places,  or  swung  round  corners  with  an  eddy ;  the  willows  25 
nodded  and  were  undermined  all  day  long;  the  clay  banks 
tumbled  in ;  the  Oise,  which  had  been  so  many  centuries 
making  the  Golden  Valley,  seemed  to  have  changed  its 
fancy,  and  be  bent  upon  undoing  its  performance.  What 
a  number  of  things  a  river  docs,  by  simply  following  30 
Gravity  in  the  innocence  of  its  heart! 


NOYON  CATHEDRAL 

NoYON  Stands  about  a  mile  from  the  river,  in  a  little 
plain  surrounded  by  wooded  hills,  and  entirely  covers  an 
eminence  with  its  tile  roofs,  surmounted  by  a  long,  straight- 
backed  cathedral  with  two  stiff  towers.  As  we  got  into 
5  the  town,  the  tile  roofs  seemed  to  tumble  uphill  one  upon 
another,  in  the  oddest  disorder;  but  for  all  their  scram- 
bling, they  did  not  attain  above  the  knees  of  the  cathedral, 
which  stood,  upright  and  solemn,  over  all.  As  the  streets 
drew  near  to  this  presiding  genius,  through  the  market 

10  place  under  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  they  grew  emptier  and 
more  composed.  Blank  walls  and  shuttered  windows 
were  turned  to  the  great  edifice,  and  grass  grew  on  the 
white  causeway.  "  Put  off  thy  shoes  from  off  thy  feet, 
for  the  place  whereon  thou  standest  is  holy  ground."     The 

15  Hotel  du  Nord,  nevertheless,  lights  its  secular  tapers 
within  a  stone  cast  of  the  church ;  and  we  had  the  superb 
east-end  before  our  eyes  all  morning  from  the  window  of 
our  bed-room.  I  have  seldom  looked  on  the  east-end  of  a 
church  with  more  complete  sympathy.    As  it  flanges  out  in 

20  three  wide  terraces,  and  settles  down  broadly  on  the  earth, 
it  looks  like  the  poop  of  some  great  old  battleship.  Hollow- 
backed  buttresses  carry  vases,  which  figure  for  the  stern 
lanterns.  There  is  a  roll  in  the  ground,  and  the  towers 
just  appear  above  the  pitch  of  the  roof,  as  though  the  good 

25  ship  were  bowing  lazily  over  an  Atlantic  swell.  At  any 
moment  it  might  be  a  hundred  feet  away  from  you,  climb- 
ing the  next  billow.  At  any  moment  a  window  might 
open,  and  some  old  admiral  thrust  forth  a  cocked  hatj  and 

94 


Noyon   Cathedral  95 

proceed  to  take  an  observation.  The  old  admirals  sail 
the  sea  no  longer;  the  old  ships  of  battle  are  all  broken 
up,  and  live  only  in  pictures;  but  this,  that  was  a  church 
before  ever  they  were  thought  upon,  is  still  a  church,  and 
makes  as  brave  an  appearance  by  the  Oise.  The  cathe-  5 
dral  and  the  river  are  probably  the  two  oldest  things  for 
miles  around;  and  certainly  they  have  both  a  grand  old 
age. 

The  Sacristan  took  us  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers, 
and  showed  us  the  five  bells  hanging  in  their  loft.  From  10 
above,  the  town  was  a  tessellated  pavement  of  roofs  and 
gardens;  the  old  line  of  rampart  was  plainly  traceable; 
and  the  Sacristan  pointed  out  to  us,  far  across  the  plain, 
in  a  bit  of  gleaming  sky  between  two  clouds,  the  towers  of 
Chateau  Coucy.  15 

P  find  J  never  wearyjoi  great  churches.  It  is  my  favo- 
rite kind  of  mountain  scenery.  Mankind  was  never  so 
happily  inspired  as  when  it  made  a  cathedral:  a  thing  as 
single  and  specious  as  a  statue  to  the  first  glance,  and  yet, 
on  examination,  as  lively  and  interesting  as  a  forest  in  20 
detail.  The  height  of  spires  cannot  be  taken  by  trigo- 
nometry ;  they  measure  absurdly  short,  but  how  tall  they 
are  to  the  admiring  eye!  And  where  we  have  so  many 
elegant  proportions,  growing  one  out  of  the  other,  and  all 
together  into  one,  it  seems  as  if  proportion  transcended  25 
itself  and  became  something  different  and  more  imposing. 
I  could  never  fathom  how  a  man  dares  to  lift  up  his  voice 
to  preach  in  a  cathedral.  What  is  he  to  say  that  will  not 
be  an  anti-climax?  For  though  I  have  heard  a  consider- 
able variety  of  sermons,  I  neyer  yet  heard  one  that  was  so  30 
expressive  as  a  cathedral.  ^Jf^'is  the  best  preacher  itself, 
and  preaches  day  and  night ;  not  only  telling  you  of  man's 
art  and  aspirations  in  the  past,  but  convicting  your  own 
soul 'of  ardent  sympathies;  or  rather,  like  all  good  preach- 


96  An  Inland  Voyage 

ers,  it  sets  j'ou  preaching  to  yourself; — and  every  man  is 
his  own  doctor  of  divinity  in  the  last  resort. 

As  I  sat  outside  of  the  hotel  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, the  sweet  groaning  thunder  of  the  organ  floated  out 
5  of  the  church  like  a  summons.  I  was  not  averse,  liking 
the  theater  so  well,  to  sit  out  an  act  or  two  of  the  play, 
but  I  could  never  rightly  make  out  the  nature  of  the  service 
I  beheld.  Four  or  five  priests  and  as  many  choristers  were 
singing  Miserere  before  the  high  altar  when  I  went  in. 

10  There  was  no  congregation  but  a  few  old  women  on 
chairs  and  old  men  kneeling  on  the  pavement.  After  a 
while  a  long  train  of  young  girls,  walking  two  and  two, 
each  with  a  lighted  taper  in  her  hand,  and  all  dressed  in 
black  with  a  white  veil,  came  from  behind  the  altar  and 

15  began  to  descend  the  nave ;  the  four  first  carrying  a  Virgin 
and  child  upon  a  table.  The  priests  and  choristers  arose 
from  their  knees  and  followed  after,  singing  "  Ave  Mary  " 
as  they  went.  In  this  order,  they  made  the  circuit  of  the 
cathedral,  passing  twice  before  me  where  I  leaned  against 

20  a  pillar.  The  priest  who  seemed  of  most  consequence  was 
a  strange,  down-looking  old  man.  He  kept  mumbling 
prayers  with  his  lips ;  but  as  he  looked  upon  me  darkling, 
it  did  not  seem  as  if  prayer  were  uppermost  in  his  heart. 
Two   others,   who   bore  the  burden   of  the  chant,   were 

25  stout,  brutal,  military-looking  men  of  forty,  with  bold, 
overfed  eyes;  they  sang  with  some  lustiness,  and  trolled 
forth  "  Ave  Mary  "  like  a  garrison  catch.  The  little  girls 
were  timid  and  grave.  As  they  footed  slowly  up  the  aisle, 
each  one  took  a  moment's  glance  at  the  Englishman ;  and 

30  the  big  nun  who  played  marshal  fairly  stared  him  out  of 
countenance.  As  for  the  choristers,  from  first  to  last  they 
misbehaved  as  only  boys  can  misbehave ;  and  cruelly  marred 
the  performance  with  their  antics. 

I  understood  a  great  deal  of  the  spirit  of  what  went  on. 


Noyon  Cathedral  97 

Indeed  It  would  be  difficult  not  to  understand  the  Mise- 
rere, which  I  take  to  be  the  composition  of  an  atheist.  If 
it  ever  be  a  good  thing  to  take  such  despondency  to  heart, 
the  Miserere  is  the  right  music  and  a  cathedral  a  fit  scene. 
So  far  I  am  at  one  with  the  Catholics : — an  odd  name  for  5 
them,  after  all?  But  why,  in  God's  name,  these  holiday 
choristers?  why  these  priests  who  steal  wandering  looks 
about  the  congregation  while  they  feign  to  be  at  prayer? 
why  this  fat  nun,  who  rudely  arranges  her  procession  and 
shakes  delinquent  virgins  by  the  elbow  ?  why  this  spitting,  10 
and  snuffing,  and  forgetting  of  keys,  and  the  thousand  and 
one  little  misadventures  that  disturb  a  frame  of  mind, 
laboriously  edified  with  chants  and  organings?  In  any 
play-house  reverend  fathers  may  see  what  can  be  done 
with  a  little  art,  and  how,  to  move  high  sentiments,  it  is  15 
necessary  to  drill  the  supernumeraries  and  have  every  stool 
in  its  proper  place. 

One  other  circumstance  distressed  me.     I  could  bear  a 
Miserere  myself,  having  had  a  good  deal  of  open  air  exer- 
cise of  late;  but  I  wished  the  old  people  somewhere  else.  20 
It  was  neither  the  right  sort  of  music  nor  the  right  sort  of 
divinity,  for  men  and  women  who  have  come  through  most 
accidents  by  this  time,  and  probably  have  an  opinion  of 
their  own  upon  the  tragic  element  in  life.    A  person  up  in 
years  can  generally  do  his  own  Miserere  for  himself;  al-  25 
though  I  notice  that  such  an  one  often  prefers  Jubilate 
Deo  for  his  ordinary  singing.     On  the  whole,  the  most 
religious  exercise  for  the  aged  is  probably  to  recall  their 
own  experience;  so  many  friends  dead,  so  many  hopes  dis- 
appointed,   so   many   slips   and    stumbles,   and   withal   so  30 
many  bright  days  and  smiling  providences;  there  is  surely 
the  matter  of  a  very  eloquent  sermon  in  all  this. 

On  the  whole,  I  was  greatly  solemnized.     In  the  little 
pictorial  map  of  our  whole  Inland  Voyage,  which  my  fancy 


98  An  Inland  Voyage 

still  preserves,  and  sometimes  unrolls  for  the  amusement 
of  odd  moments,  Noyon  cathedral  figures  on  a  most  pre- 
posterous scale,  and  must  be  nearly  as  large  as  a  depart- 
ment. I  can  still  see  the  faces  of  the  priests  as  if  they  were 
S  at  my  elbow,  and  hear  Az'e  Alaria,  ora  pro  nobis  sounding 
through  the  church.  Air'Nbyon  is  blotted  out  for  me  by 
these  superior  memories;  and  I  do  not  care  to  say  more 
about  the  place.  It  was  but  a  stack  of  brown  roofs  at  the 
best,  where  I  believe  people  live  very  reputably  in  a  quiet 
10  way ;  but  the  shadow  of  the  church  falls  upon  it  when 
the  sun  is  low,  and  the  five  bells  are  heard  in  all  quarters, 
telling  that  the  organ  has  begun.  If  ever  I  join  the  church 
of  Rome,  I  shall  stipulate  to  be  Bishop  of  Noyon  on  the 
Oise. 


DOWN  THE  OISE:  TO  COMPIEGNE 

The  most  patient  people  grow  weary  at  last  with  being 
continually  wetted  with  rain ;  except  of  course  in  the 
Scotch  Highlands,  where  there  are  not  enough  fine  inter- 
vals to  point  the  difference.  That  was  like  to  be  our  case, 
the  day  we  left  Noyon.  I  remember  nothing  of  the  voy-  5 
age;  it  was  nothing  but  clay  banks  and  willows,  and 
rain;  incessant,  pitiless,  beating  rain:  until  we  stopped  to 
lunch  at  a  little  inn  at  Pimprez,  where  the  canal  ran  very 
near  the  river.  We  were  so  sadly  drenched  that  the  land- 
lady lit  a  few  sticks  in  the  chimney  for  our  comfort ;  there  10 
we  sat  in  a  steam  of  vapor,  lamenting  our  concerns.  The 
husband  donned  a  game-bag  and  strode  out  to  shoot ;  the 
wife  sat  in  a  far  corner  watching  us.  I  think  we  were 
worth  looking  at.  We  grumbled  over  the  misfortune  of 
La  Fere;  we  forecast  other  La  Feres  in  the  future; — al-  15 
though  things  went  better  with  the  Cigarette  for  spokes- 
man ;  he  had  more  aplomb  altogether  than  I,  and  a  dull, 
positive  way  of  approaching  a  landlady  that  carried  off  the 
india-rubber  bags.  Talking  of  La  Fere,  put  us  talking  of 
the   reservists.  20 

"  Reservery,"  said  he,  "seems  a  pretty  mean  way  to 
spend  one's  autumn  holiday." 

"  About  as  mean,"  returned  I  dejectedly,  "  as  canoeing." 

"These  gentlemen  travel  for  their  pleasure?"  asked  the 
landlady,  with  unconscious  irony.  25 

It  was  too  much.  The  scales  fell  from  our  eyes.  An- 
other wet  day,  it  was  determined,  and  we  put  the  boats 
into  the  train. 

99 


100  An  Inland  Voyage 

The  weather  took  the  hint.  That  was  our  last  wetting. 
The  afternoon  faired  up :  grand  clouds  still  voyaged  in  the 
sky,  but  now  singly,  and  with  a  depth  of  blue  around  their 
path;  and  a  sunset,  in  the  daintiest  rose  and  gold,  in- 
5  augurated  a  thick  night  of  stars  and  a  month  of  unbroken 
weather.  At  the  same  time,  the  river  began  to  give  us  a 
better  outlook  into  the  country.  The  banks  were  not  so 
high,  the  willows  disappeared  from  along  the  margin,  and 
pleasant  hills  stood  all  along  its  course  and  marked  their 
10  profile  on  the  sky. 

In  a  little  while,  the  canal,  coming  to  its  last  lock,  began 
to  discharge  its  water-houses  on  the  Oise;  so  that  we  had 
no  lack  of  company  to  fear.  Here  were  all  our  old  friends; 
the  Deo  Gratias  of  Conde  and  the  Four  Sons  of  Aynion, 
15  journeyed  cheerily  down  stream  along  with  us;  we  ex- 
changed waterside  pleasantries  with  the  steersman  perched 
among  the  lumber,  or  the  driver  hoarse  wath  bawling  to 
his  horses;  and  the  children  came  and  looked  over  the 
side  as  we  paddled  by.  We  had  never  known  all  this 
20  while  how  much  we  missed  them ;  but  it  gave  us  a  fillip 
to  see  the  smoke  from  their  chimneys. 

A  little  below  this  junction,  we  made  another  meeting 
of  yet  more  account.  For  there  we  were  joined  by  the 
Aisne,  already  a  far-traveled  river  and  fresh  out  of  Cham- 
25  pagne.  Here  ended  the  adolescence  of  the  Oise ;  this 
was  his  marriage  day ;  thenceforward  he  had  a  stately, 
brimming  march,  conscious  of  his  own  dignity  and  sundry 
dams.  He  became  a  tranquil  feature  in  the  scene.  The 
trees  and  towns  saw  themselves  in  him,  as  in  a  mirror. 
30  He  carried  the  canoes  lightly  on  his  broad  breast ;  there 
was  no  need  to  work  hard  against  an  eddy:  but  idleness 
became  the  order  of  the  day,  and  mere  straightforward 
dipping  of  the  paddle,  now  on  this  side,  now  on  that, 
without  intelligence  or  effort.    Truly  we  were  coming  into 


Down  the  Olse:  to  Complegne  loi 

halcyon  weather  upon  all  accounts,  and  were  floated  to- 
wards the  sea  like  gentlemen. 

We  made  Compiegne,  as  the  sun  was  going  down :  a  fine 
profile  of  a  town  above  the  river.  Over  the  bridge,  a 
regiment  was  parading  to  the  drum.  People  loitered  on  s 
the  quay,  some  fishing,  some  looking  idly  at  the  stream. 
And  as  the  two  boats  shot  in  along  the  water,  we  could  see 
them  pointing  therti  out  and  speaking  one  to  another.  We 
landed  at  a  floating  lavatory,  where  the  washerwomen 
were  still  beating  the  clothes.  lo 


AT  COMPIEGNE 

We  put  up  at  a  big,  bustling  hotel  in  Compiegne,  where 
nobody  observed  our  presence. 

Reservery  and  general  ?nUitarismus  (as  the  Germans 
call  it)  was  rampant.  A  camp  of  conical  white  tents 
5  without  the  town,  looked  like  a  leaf  out  of  a  picture 
Bible;  sword-belts  decorated  the  walls  of  the  cafes;  and 
the  streets  kept  sounding  all  day  long  with  military 
music.  It  is  not  possible  to  be  an  Englishman  and  avoid 
a  feeling  of  elation ;  for  the  men  who  followed  the  drums 

10  were  small,  and  walked  shabbily.  Each  man  inclined  at 
his  own  angle,  and  jolted  to  his  own  convenience,  as  he 
went.  There  was  nothing  of  the  superb  gait  with  which  a 
regiment  of  tall  Highlanders  moves  behind  its  music, 
solemn  and  inevitable,  like  a  natural  phenomenon.     Who, 

15  that  has  seen  it,  can  forget  the  drum-major  pacing  in 
front,  the  drummers'  tiger-skins,  the  pipers'  swinging 
plaids,  the  strange  elastic  rhythm  of  the  whole  regiment 
footing  it  in  time — and  the  bang  of  the  drum,  when  the 
brasses  cease,  and  the  shrill  pipes  take  up  the  martial  story 

20  in  their  place? 

A  girl,  at  school  in  France,  began  to  describe  one  of  our 
regiments  on  parade,  to  her  French  schoolmates ;  and  as  she 
went  on,  she  told  me,  the  recollection  grew  so  vivid,  she 
became  so  proud  to  be  the  countrywoman  of  such  soldiers, 

25  and  so  sorry  to  be  in  another  countn',  that  her  voice 
failed  her  and  she  burst  into  tears.  I  have  never  forgotten 
that  girl ;  and  I  think  she  very  nearly  deserves  a  statue. 
To  call  her  a  young  lady,  with  all  its  niminy  associa- 

102 


At  Compiegne  103 

tlons,  would  be  to  offer  her  an  insult.  She  may  rest 
assured  of  one  thing;  although  she  never  should  marry  a 
heroic  general,  never  see  any  great  or  immediate  result  of 
her  life,  she  will  not  have  lived  in  vain  for  her  native  land. 

But  though  French  soldiers  show  to  ill-advantage  on  5 
parade,  on  the  march  they  are  gay,  alert,  and  willing  like  a 
troop  of  fox-hunters.     I  remember  once  seeing  a  company 
pass  through  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  on  the  Chailly 
road,  between  the  Bas  Breau  and  the  Reine  Blanche.    One 
fellow  walked  a  little  before  the  rest,  and  sang  a  loud,  10 
audacious  marching  song.     The  rest  bestirred  their  feet, 
and  even  swung  their  muskets  in  time.     A  young  officer 
on  horseback  had  hard  ado  to  keep  his  countenance  at  the 
words.     You  never  saw  anything  so  cheerful  and  spon- 
taneous as  their  gait;  schoolboys  do  not  look  more  eagerly  15 
at  hare  and  hounds;  and  you  would  have  thought  it  im- 
possible to  tire  such  willing  marchers. 

My  great  delight  in  Compiegne  was  the  town-hall.     I 
doted  upon  the  town-hall.     It  is  a  monument  of  Gothic 
insecurity,  all  turreted,  and  gargoyled,  and  slashed,  and  20 
bedizened  with  half  a  score  of  architectural  fancies.    Some 
of  the  niches  are  gilt  and  painted ;  and  in  a  great  square 
panel  in  the  center,  in  black  relief  on  a  gilt  ground,  Louis 
XII   rides  upon  a  pacing  horse,  with  hand  on  hip,  and 
head  thrown  back.    There  is  royal  arrogance  in  every  line  25 
of  him;  the  stirruped   foot  projects  insolently  from   the 
frame;  the  eye  is  hard  and  proud;  the  very  horse  seems 
to    be    treading   with    gratification    over    prostrate   serfs, 
and  to  have  the  breath  of  the  trumpet  in  his  nostrils.     So 
rides  for  ever,  on  the  front  of  the  town-hall,  the  good  king  30 
Louis  XII,  the  father  of  his  people. 

Over  the  king's  head,  in  the  tall  center  turret,  appears 
the  dial  of  a  clock;  and  high  above  that,  three  little 
mechanical  figures,  each  one  with  a  hammer  in  his  hand, 


104  ^^  Inland  Voyage 

whose  business  it  is  to  chime  out  the  hours  and  halves  and 
quarters  for  the  burgesses  of  Compiegne.  The  center 
figure  has  a  gilt  breast-plate;  the  two  others  wear  gilt 
trunk-hose;  and  they  all  three  have  elegant,  flapping  hats 
5  like  cavaliers.  As  the  quarter  approaches  they  turn  their 
heads  and  look  knowingly  one  to  the  other;  and  then, 
kling  go  the  three  hammers  on  three  little  bells  below. 
The  hour  follows,  deep  and  sonorous,  from  the  interior  of 
the    tower;    and    the    gilded    gentlemen    rest    from    their 

10  labors  with  contentment. 

I  had  a  great  deal  of  healthy  pleasure  from  their  ma- 
noeuvers,  and  took  good  care  to  miss  as  few  performances 
as  possible ;  and  I  found  that  even  the  Cigarette,  while  he 
pretended  to  despise  my  enthusiasm,  was  more  or  less  a 

15  devotee  himself.  There  is  something  highly  absurd  in 
the  exposition  of  such  toys  to  the  outrages  of  winter  on  a 
housetop.  They  would  be  more  in  keeping  in  a  glass  case 
before  a  Niirnberg  clock.  Above  all,  at  night,  when  the 
children   are   abed,   and   even   grown   people   are   snoring 

20  under  quilts,  does  it  not  seem  impertinent  to  leave  these 
ginger-bread  figures  winking  and  tinkling  to  the  stars  and 
the  rolling  moon  ?  The  gargoyles  may  fitly  enough  twist 
their  ape-like  heads;  fitly  enough  may  the  potentate  bestride 
his  charger,  like  a  centurion  In  an  old  German  print  of 

25  the  Fia  Dolorosa;  but  the  toys  should  be  put  away  in  a 
box  among  some  cotton,  until  the  sun  rises,  and  the  chil- 
dren are  abroad  again  to  be  amused. 

In  Compiegne  post-office,  a  great  packet  of  letters 
awaited  us;  and  the  authorities  were,   for  this  occasion 

30  only,  so  polite  as  to  hand  them  over  upon  application. 
In  some  ways,  our  journey  may  be  said  to  end  with  this 
letter-bag  at  Compiegne.    The  spell  was  broken.    We  had 
partly  come  home  from  that  moment. 

No  one  should  have  any  correspondence  on  a  journey; 


At  Compiegne  105 

it  is  bad  enough  to  have  to  write ;  but  the  receipt  of  letters 
is  the  death  of  all  holiday  feeling. 

"  Out  of  my  country  and  myself  I  go."  I  wish  to  take 
a  dive  among  new  conditions  for  a  while,  as  into  another 
element.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  friends  or  my  5 
affections  for  the  time ;  when  I  came  away,  I  left  my  heart 
at  home  in  a  desk,  or  sent  it  forward  with  my  portmanteau 
to  await  me  at  my  destination.  After  my  journey  is  over, 
I  shall  not  fail  to  read  your  admirable  letters  with  the 
attention  they  deserve.  But  I  have  paid  all  this  money,  10 
look  you,  and  paddled  all  these  strokes,  for  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  be  abroad ;  and  yet  you  keep  me  at  home  with 
your  perpetual  communications.  You  tug  the  string,  and 
I  feel  that  I  am  a  tethered  bird.  You  pursue  me  all  over 
Europe  with  the  little  vexations  that  I  came  away  to  15 
avoid.  There  is  no  discharge  in  the  war  of  life,  I  am  well 
aware ;  but  shall  there  not  be  so  much  as  a  week's  fur- 
lough ? 

We  were  up  by  six,  the  day  we  were  to  leave.  They  had 
taken  so  little  note  of  us  that  I  hardly  thought  they  would  20 
have  condescended  on  a  bill.  But  they  did,  with  some 
smart  particulars  too ;  and  we  paid  in  a  civilized  manner 
to  an  uninterested  clerk,  and  went  out  of  that  hotel,  with 
the  india-rubber  bags,  unremarked.  No  one  cared  to 
know  about  us.  It  is  not  possible  to  rise  before  a  village;  25 
but  Compiegne  was  so  grown  a  town,  that  it  took  its  ease 
in  the  morning;  and  we  were  up  and  away  while  it  was 
still  in  dressing  gown  and  slippers.  The  streets  were  left 
to  people  washing  doorsteps;  nobody  was  in  full  dress 
but  the  cavaliers  upon  the  town-hall ;  they  were  all  washed  30 
with  dew,  spruce  in  their  gilding,  and  full  of  intelligence 
and  a  sense  of  professional  responsibility.  Kling,  went 
they  on  the  bells  for  the  half-past  six,  as  we  went  by.  I 
took  it  kind  of  them  to  make  me  this  parting  compliment ; 


io6  An  Inland  Voyage 

they  never  were  in  better  form,  not  even  at  noon  upon  a 
Sunday. 

There  was  no  one  to  see  us  off  but  the  early  washer- 
women— early  and  late — who  were  already  beating  the 
5  linen  in  their  floating  lavatory  on  the  river.  They  were 
very  merry  and  matutinal  in  their  w^ays;  plunged  their 
arms  boldly  in,  and  seemed  not  to  feel  the  shock.  It 
would  be  dispiriting  to  me,  this  early  beginning  and  first 
cold  dabble,  of  a  most  dispiriting  day's  work.  But  I 
10  believe  they  would  have  been  as  unwilling  to  change 
days  with  us,  as  we  could  be  to  change  with  them.  They 
crowded  to  the  door  to  watch  us  paddle  away  into  the  thin 
sunny  mists  upon  the  river;  and  shouted  heartily  after 
us  till  we  were  through  the  bridge. 


CHANGED  TIMES 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  those  mists  never  rose  from 
off  our  journey;  and  from  that  time  forth  they  lie  very 
densely  in  my  note-book.  As  long  as  the  Oise  was  a 
small  rural  river,  it  took  us  near  by  people's  doors,  and 
we  could  hold  a  conversation  with  natives  in  the  riparian  5 
fields.  But  now  that  it  had  grown  so  wide,  the  life  along 
shore  passed  us  by  at  a  distance.  It  was  the  same  differ- 
ence as  between  a  great  public  highway  and  a  country 
by-path  that  wanders  in  and  out  of  cottage  gardens.  We 
now  lay  in  towns,  where  nobody  troubled  us  with  ques-  10 
tions;  we  had  floated  into  civilized  life,  where  people 
pass  without  salutation.  In  sparsely  inhabited  places,  we 
make  all  we  can  of  each  encounter ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
a  city,  we  keep  to  ourselves,  and  never  speak  unless  we 
have  trodden  on  a  man's  toes.  In  these  waters,  we  were  15 
no  longer  strange  birds,  and  nobody  supposed  we  had 
traveled  further  than  from  the  last  town.  I  remember, 
when  we  came  into  L'Isle  Adam,  for  instance,  how  we  met 
dozens  of  pleasure-boats  outing  it  for  the  afternoon,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  the  true  voyager  from  the  20 
amateur,  except,  perhaps,  the  filthy  condition  of  my  sail. 
The  company  in  one  boat  actually  thought  they  recognized 
me  for  a  neighbor.  Was  there  ever  anything  more  wound- 
ing? All  the  romance  had  come  down  to  that.  Now,  on 
the  upper  Oise,  where  nothing  sailed  as  a  general  thing  25 
but  fish,  a  pair  of  canoeists  could  not  be  thus  vulgarly  ex- 
plained away;  we  were  strange  and  picturesque  intruders; 
and   out  of  people's   wonder  sprang  a  sort   of  light  and 

107 


io8  An  Inland  Voyage 

passing  intimacy  all  along  our  route.  There  is  nothing 
but  tit  for  tat  in  this  world,  though  sometimes  it  be  a  little 
difficult  to  trace:  for  the  scores  are  older  than  we  ourselves, 
and  there  has  never  yet  been  a  settling-day  since  things 

5  were.  You  get  entertainment  pretty  much  in  proportion  as 
you  give.  As  long  as  we  were  a  sort  of  odd  wanderers, 
to  be  stared  at  and  followed  like  a  quack  doctor  or  a 
caravan,  we  had  no  want  of  amusement  in  return ;  but  as 
soon  as  we  sank  into  commonplace  ourselves,  all  whom  we 

10  met  were  similarly  disenchanted.  And  here  is  one  reason 
of  a  dozen,  why  the  world  is  dull  to  dull  persons. 

In  our  early  adventures  there  was  generally  something 
to  do,  and  that  quickened  us.  Even  the  showers  of  rain 
had  a  revivifying  effect,  and  shook  up  the  brain  from  tor- 

15  por.  But  now,  when  the  river  no  longer  ran  in  a  proper 
sense,  only  glided  seaward  with  an  even,  outright,  but  im- 
perceptible speed,  and  when  the  sky  smiled  upon  us  day 
after  day  without  variety,  we  began  to  slip  into  that 
golden  doze  of  the  mind  which  follows  upon  much  exercise 

20  in  the  open  air.  I  have  stupefied  myself  in  this  way 
more  than  once;  indeed,  I  dearly  love  the  feeling;  but 
I  never  had  it  to  the  same  degree  as  when  paddling  down 
the  Oise.    It  was  the  apotheosis  of  stupidity. 

We  ceased  reading  entirely.     Sometimes  when  I  found 

25  a  new  paper,  I  took  a  particular  pleasure  in  reading  a 
single  number  of  the  current  novel ;  but  I  never  could  bear 
more  than  three  instalments;  and  even  the  second  was  a 
disappointment.  As  soon  as  the  tale  became  in  any  way 
perspicuous,  it  lost  all  merit  in  my  eyes;  only  a  single 

30  scene,  or,  as  is  the  way  with  these  feuilletons,  half  a  scene, 
without  antecedent  or  consequence,  like  a  piece  of  a  dream, 
had  the  knack  of  fixing  my  interest.  The  less  I  saw  of 
the  novel,  the  better  I  liked  it:  a  pregnant  reflection. 
But  for  the  most  part,  as  I  said,  we  neither  of  us  read  any- 


Changed  Times  109 

thing  in  the  world,  and  employed  the  very  little  while  we 
were  awake  between  bed  and  dinner  in  poring  upon  maps. 
I  have  always  been  fond  of  maps,  and  can  voyage  in  an 
atlas  with  the  greatest  enjoyment.  The  names  of  places 
are  singularly  inviting;  the  contour  of  coasts  and  rivers  is  s 
enthralling  to  the  eye;  and  to  hit,  in  a  map,  upon  some 
place  you  have  heard  of  before,  makes  history  a  new  pos- 
session. But  we  thumbed  our  charts,  on  these  evenings, 
with  the  blankest  unconcern.  We  cared  not  a  fraction  for 
this  place  or  that.  We  stared  at  the  sheet  as  children  10 
listen  to  their  rattle;  and  read  the  names  of  towns  or 
villages  to  forget  them  again  at  once.  We  had  no  romance 
in  the  matter;  there  was  nobody  so  fancy-free.  If  you 
had  taken  the  maps  away  while  we  were  studying  them 
most  intently,  it  is  a  fair  bet  whether  we  might  not  have  15 
continued  to  study  the  table  with  the  same  delight. 

About  one  thing  we  were  mightily  taken  up,  and  that 
was  eating.  I  think  I  made  a  god  of  my  belly.  I  re- 
member dwelling  in  imagination  upon  this  or  that  dish  till 
my  mouth  watered  ;  and  long  before  we  got  in  for  the  night  20 
my  appetite  was  a  clamant,  instant  annoyance.  Some- 
times we  paddled  alongside  for  a  while  and  whetted  each 
other  with  gastronomical  fancies  as  we  went.  Cake  and 
sherry,  a  homely  refection,  but  not  within  reach  upon  the 
Oise,  trotted  through  my  head  for  many  a  mile ;  and  once,  25 
as  we  were  approaching  Verberie,  the  Cigarette  brought 
my  heart  into  my  mouth  by  the  suggestion  of  oyster  patties 
and  Sauterne. 

I  suppose  none  of  us  recognize  the  great  part  that  is 
played  in  life  by  eating  and  drinking.  The  appetite  is  so  30 
imperious,  that  we  can  stomach  the  least  interesting 
viands,  and  pass  off  a  dinner  hour  thankfully  enough  on 
bread  and  water;  just  as  there  are  men  who  must  read 
something,  if  it  were  only  Bradshaw's  Guide.    But  there 


no  An  Inland  Voyage 

is  a  romance  about  the  matter  after  all.  Probably  the 
table  has  more  devotees  than  love ;  and  I  am  sure  that  food 
is  much  more  generally  entertaining  than  scenery.  Do  you 
give  in,  as  Walt  Whitman  would  say,  that  you  are  any 
5  the  less  immortal  for  that?  The  true  materialism  is  to  be 
ashamed  of  what  we  are.  To  detect  the  flavor  of  an  olive 
is  no  less  a  piece  of  human  perfection,  than  to  find  beauty 
in  the  colors  of  the  sunset. 

Canoeing  was  easy  work.     To  dip  the  paddle  at  the 

10  proper  inclination,  now  right,  now  left;  to  keep  the  head 
down  stream ;  to  empty  the  little  pool  that  gathered  in 
the  lap  of  the  apron ;  to  screw  up  the  eyes  against  the 
glittering  sparkles  of  sun  upon  the  water;  or  now  and 
again  to  pass  below  the  whistling  tow-rope  of  the  Deo 

15  Gratias  of  Conde,  or  the  Four  Sons  of  Aymon — there  was 
not  much  art  in  that ;  certain  silly  muscles  managed  it 
between  sleep  and  waking;  and  meanwhile  the  brain  had 
a  whole  holiday,  and  went  to  sleep.  We  took  in,  at  a 
glance,  the  larger  features  of  the  scene ;  and  beheld,  with 

20  half  an  eye,  bloused  fishers  and  dabbling  washerwomen 
on  the  bank.  Now  and  again  we  might  be  half  awakened 
by  some  church  spire,  by  a  leaping  fish,  or  by  a  trail  of 
river  grass  that  clung  about  the  paddle  and  had  to  be 
plucked  off  and  thrown  away.     But  these  luminous  in- 

25  tervals  were  only  partially  luminous.  A  little  more  of  us 
was  called  into  action,  but  never  the  whole.  The  central 
bureau  of  nerves,  what  in  some  moods  we  call  Ourselves, 
enjoyed  its  holiday  without  disturbance,  like  a  Govern- 
ment Office.    The  great  wheels  of  intelligence  turned  idly 

30  in  the  head,  like  fly-wheels,  grinding  no  grist.  I  have  gone 
on  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  counting  my  strokes  and  for- 
getting the  hundreds.  I  flatter  myself  the  beasts  that 
perish  could  not  underbid  that,  as  a  low  form  of  con- 
sciousness.   And  what  a  pleasure  it  w^!    What  a  hearty, 


Changed  Times  in 

tolerant  temper  did  it  bring  about!  There  is  nothing 
captious  about  a  man  who  has  attained  to  this,  the  one 
possible  apotheosis  in  life,  the  Apotheosis  of  Stupidity; 
and  he  begins  to  feel  dignified  and  longevous  like 
a  tree.  5 

There  was  one  odd  piece  of  practical  metaphysics  which 
accompanied  what  I  may  call  the  depth,  if  I  must  not  call 
it  the  intensity,  of  my  abstraction.  What  philosophers 
call  me  and  not  me,-  ego  and  non  ego,  preoccupied  me 
whether  I  would  or  no.  There  was  less  me  and  more  lo 
not  me  than  I  was  accustomed  to  expect.  I  looked  on 
upon  somebody  else,  who  managed  the  paddling;  I  was 
aware  of  somebody  else's  feet  against  the  stretcher ;  my 
own  body  seemed  to  have  no  more  intimate  relation  to  me 
than  the  canoe,  or  the  river,  or  the  river  banks.  Nor  15 
this  alone :  something  inside  my  mind,  a  part  of  my  brain,  a 
province  of  my  proper  being,  had  thrown  off  allegiance 
and  set  up  for  itself,  or  perhaps  for  the  somebody  else 
who  did  the  paddling,  I  had  dwindled  into  quite  a  little 
thing  in  a  corner  of  myself.  I  was  isolated  in  my  own  20 
skull.  Thoughts  presented  themselves  unbidden;  they 
were  not  my  thoughts,  they  were  plainly  some  one  else's; 
and  I  considered  them  like  a  part  of  the  landscape.  I 
take  it,  in  short,  that  I  was  about  as  near  Nirvana  as  would 
be  convenient  in  practical  life;  and  if  this  be  so,  I  make  25 
the  Buddhists  my  sincere  compliments ;  'tis  an  agreeable 
state,  not  very  consistent  with  mental  brilliancy,  not  ex- 
actly profitable  in  a  money  point  of  view,  but  very  calm, 
golden  and  incunous,  and  one  that  sets  a  ^nan  superior 
to  alarms.  It  may  be  best  figured  by  supposing  yourself  30 
to  get  dead  drunk,  and  yet  keep  sober  to  enjoy  it.  I  have 
a  notion  that  open-air  laborers  must  spend  a  large  portion 
of  their  days  in  this  ecstatic  stupor,  which  explains  their 
high  composure  and  endurance.     A  pity  to  go  to  the  ex- 


112  An  Inland  Voyage 

pense  of  laudanum,  when  here  Is  a  better  paradise   for 
nothing! 

This  frame  of  mind  was  the  great  exploit  of  our  voyage, 
take  It  all  In  all.  It  was  the  farthest  piece  of  travel 
5  accomplished.  Indeed,  It  lies  so  far  from  beaten  paths  of 
language,  that  I  despair  of  getting  the  reader  Into  sym- 
pathy with  the  smiling,  complacent  Idiocy  of  my  condition ; 
when  Ideas  came  and  went  like  motes  In  a  sunbeam ; 
when  trees  and  church  spires  along  the  bank  surged  up 

10  from  time  to  time  Into  my  notice,  like  solid  objects  through 
a  rolling  cloudland ;  when  the  rhythmical  swish  of  boat 
and  paddle  in  the  water  became  a  cradle-song  to  lull  my 
thoughts  asleep ;  when  a  piece  of  mud  on  the  deck  was 
sometimes  an  Intolerable  eyesore,  and  sometimes  quite  a 

15  companion  for  me,  and  the  object  of  pleased  considera- 
tion ; — and  all  the  time,  with  the  river  running  and  the 
shores  changing  upon  either  hand,  I  kept  counting  my 
strokes  and  forgetting  the  hundreds,  the  happiest  animal 
in  France. 


DOWN  THE  OISE:  CHURCH  INTERIORS 

We  made  our  first  stage  below  Compiegne  to  Pont 
Sainte  Maxence.  I  was  abroad  a  little  after  six  the  next 
morning.  The  air  was  biting  and  smelt  of  frost.  In  an 
open  place,  a  score  of  women  wrangled  together  over  the 
day's  market ;  and  the  noise  of  their  negotiation  sounded  5 
thin  and  querulous  like  that  of  sparrows  on  a  winter's 
morning.  The  rare  passengers  blew  into  their  hands,  and 
shuffled  in  their  wooden  shoes  to  set  the  blood  agog.  The 
streets  were  full  of  icy  shadow,  although  the  chimneys 
were  smoking  overhead  in  golden  sunshine.  If  you  wake  10 
early  enough  at  this  season  of  the  year,  you  may  get  up  in 
December  to  break  your  fast  in  June. 

I  found  my  way  to  the  church;  for  there  is  always 
something  to  see  about  a  church,  whether  living  wor- 
shipers or  dead  men's  tombs;  you  find  there  the  deadliest  15 
earnest,  and  the  hollowest  deceit ;  and  even  where  it  is 
not  a  piece  of  history,  it  will  be  certain  to  leak  out  some 
contemporary  gossip.  It  was  scarcely  so  cold  in  the 
church  as  it  was  without,  but  it  looked  colder.  The  white 
nave  was  positively  arctic  to  the  eye ;  and  the  tawdriness  20 
of  a  continental  altar  looked  more  forlorn  than  usual  in 
the  solitude  and  the  bleak  air.  Two  priests  sat  in  the 
chancel,  reading  and  waiting  penitents;  and  out  in  the 
nave,  one  very  old  woman  was  engaged  in  her"  devotions. 
It  was  a  wonder  how  she  was  able  to  pass  her  beads  when  25 
healthy  young  people  were  breathing  in  their  palms  and 
slapping  their  chest ;  but  though  this  concerned  me,  I 
was  yet  more  dispirited  by  the  nature  of  her  exercises. 

"3 


114  An  Inland  Voyage 

She  went  from  chair  to  chair,  from  altar  to  altar,  circum- 
navigating the  church.  To  each  shrine,  she  dedicated  an 
equal  number  of  beads  and  an  equal  length  of  time.  Like 
a  prudent  capitalist  with  a  somewhat  cynical  view  of  the 
5  commercial  prospect,  she  desired  to  place  her  supplica- 
tions in  a  great  variety  of  heavenly  securities.  She  would 
risk  nothing  on  the  credit  of  any  single  intercessor.  Out 
of  the  whole  company  of  saints  and  angels,  not  one 
but  was  to  suppose   himself   her   champion   elect   against 

10  the  Great  Assizes!  I  could  only  think  of  it  as  a  dull, 
transparent  jugglery,  based  upon  unconscious  unbelief. 

She  was  as  dead  an  old  woman  as  ever  I  saw;  no  more 
than  bone  and  parchment,  curiously  put  together.  Her 
eyes,  with  which  she  interrogated  mine,  were  vacant  of 

15  sense.  It  depends  on  what  you  call  seeing,  whether  you 
might  not  call  her  blind.  Perhaps  she  had  known  love: 
perhaps  borne  children,  suckled  them  and  given  them  pet 
names.  But  now  that  was  all  gone  by,  and  had  left  her 
neither  happier  nor  wiser;  and  the  best  she  could  do  with 

20  her  mornings  was  to  come  up  here  into  the  cold  church  and 
juggle  for  a  slice  of  heaven.  It  was  not  without  a  gulp 
that  I  escaped  into  the  streets  and  the  keen  morning  air. 
Morning?  why,  how  tired  of  it  she  would  be  before  night! 
and  if  she  did  not  sleep,  how  then?    It  is  fortunate  that  not 

25  many  of  us  are  brought  up  publicly  to  justify  our  lives  at 
the  bar  of  threescore  years  and  ten ;  fortunate  that  such 
a  number  are  knocked  opportunely  on  the  head  in  what 
they  call  the  flower  of  their  years,  and  go  away  to  suffer  for 
their  follies  in   private   somewhere  else.     Otherwise,   be- 

3otween  sick"  children  and  discontented  old  folk,  we  might 
be  put  out  of  all  conceit  of  life. 

I  had  need  of  all  my  cerebral  hygiene  during  that  day's 
paddle:  the  old  devotee  stuck  In  my  throat  sorely.  But 
I  was  soon  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  stupidity;  and  knew 


Down  the  Olse:  Church  Interiors        115 

nothing  but  that  somebody  was  paddling  a  canoe,  while  I 
was  counting  his  strokes  and  forgetting  the  hundreds.  I 
used  sometimes  to  be  afraid  I  should  remember  the  hun- 
dreds; which  would  have  made  a  toil  of  a  pleasure;  but 
the  terror  was  chimerical,  they  went  out  of  my  mind  by  5 
enchantment,  and  I  knew  no  more  than  the  man  in  the 
moon  about  my  only  occupation. 

At  Creil,  where  we  stopped  to  lunch,  we  left  the  canoes 
in  another  floating  lavatory,  which,  as  it  was  high  noon, 
was  packed  with  washerwomen,  red-handed  and  loud- 10 
voiced;  and  they  and  their  broad  jokes  are  about  all  I 
remember  of  the  place.  I  could  look  up  my  history  books, 
if  you  were  very  anxious,  and  tell  you  a  date  or  two ;  for 
it  figured  rather  largely  in  the  English  wars.  But  I 
prefer  to  mention  a  girls'  boarding-school,  which  had  an  15 
interest  for  us  because  it  was  a  girls'  boarding-school,  and 
because  we  imagined  we  had  rather  an  interest  for  it.  At 
least — there  were  the  girls  about  the  garden;  and  here 
were  we  on  the  river;  and  there  was  more  than  one  hand- 
kerchief waved  as  we  went  by.  It  caused  quite  a  stir  in  20 
my  heart;  and  yet  how  we  should  have  wearied  and 
despised  each  other,  these  girls  and  I,  if  we  had  been  intro- 
duced at  a  croquet  party!  But  this  is  a  fashion  I  love: 
to  kiss  the  hand  or  wave  the  handkerchief  to  people  I  shall 
never  see  again,  to  play  with  possibility,  and  knock  in  a  25 
peg  for  fancy  to  hang  upon.  It  gives  the  traveler  a  jog, 
reminds  him  that  he  is  not  a  traveler  everywhere,  and 
that  his  journey  is  no  more  than  a  siesta  by  the  way  on  the 
real  march  of  life. 

The  church  at  Creil  was  a  nondescript  place  in  the  in-  30 
side,  splashed  with  gaudy  lights  from   the  windows,  and 
picked  out  with  medallions  of  the  Dolorous  Way.     But 
there  was  one  oddity,  in  the  way  of  an  ex  voto,  which 
pleased   me   hugely:   a   faithful   model   of   a  canal   boat, 


1 1 6  An  Inland  Voyage 

swung  from  the  vault,  with  a  written  aspiration  that  God 
should  conduct  the  Saint  Nicolas  of  Creil  to  a  good  haven. 
The  thing  was  neatly  executed,  and  would  have  made  the 
delight  of  a  party  of  boys  on  the  waterside.  But  what 
Stickled  me  was  the  gravity  of  the  peril  to  be  conjured. 
You  might  hang  up  the  model  of  a  sea-going  ship,  and  wel- 
come: one  that  is  to  plow  a  furrow  round  the  world,  and 
visit  the  tropic  or  the  frosty  poles,  runs  dangers  that  are 
well  worth  a  candle  and  a  mass.     But  the  Saint  Nicolas 

10  di  Creil,  which  was  to  be  tugged  for  some  ten  years  by 
patient  draught  horses,  in  a  weedy  canal,  with  the  poplars 
chattering  overhead,  and  the  skipper  whistling  at  the  tiller; 
which  was  to  do  all  its  errands  in  green,  inland  places,  and 
never  got  out  of  sight  of  a  village  belfry  in  all  its  cruising; 

15  why,  you  w'ould  have  thought  if  anything  could  be  done 
without  the  intervention  of  Providence,  it  w'ould  be  that! 
But  perhaps  the  skipper  was  a  humorist:  or  perhaps  a 
prophet,  reminding  people  of  the  seriousness  of  life  by 
this  preposterous  token. 

20  At  Creil,  as  at  Noyon,  Saint  Joseph  seemed  a  favorite 
saint  on  the  score  of  punctuality.  Day  and  hour  can  be 
specified;  and  grateful  people  do  not  fail  to  specify  them 
on  a  votive  tablet,  when  prayers  have  been  punctually 
and  neatly  answered.     Whenever  time  is  a  consideration, 

25  Saint  Joseph  is  the  proper  intermediary.  I  took  a  sort 
of  pleasure  in  observing  the  vogue  he  had  in  France,  for  the 
good  man  plays  a  very  small  part  in  my  religion  at  home= 
Yet  I  could  not  help  fearing  that,  where  the  Saint  is  so 
much  commended  for  exactitude,  he  will  be  expected  to  be 

30  very  grateful  for  his  tablet. 

This  is  foolishness  to  us  Protestants;  and  not  of  great 
importance  anyway.  Whether  people's  gratitude  for  the 
good  gifts  that  come  to  them,  be  wisely  conceived  or  duti- 
fully expressed,  is  a  secondary  matter,  after  all,  so  long  as 


Down  the  Olse:   Church  Interiors        117 

thej'^  feel  gratitude.  The  true  ignorance  is  when  a  man 
does  not  know  that  he  has  received  a  good  gift,  or  begins  to 
imagine  that  he  has  got  it  for  himself.  The  self-made  man 
is  the  funniest  windbag  after  all !  There  is  a  marked 
difference  between  decreeing  light  in  chaos,  and  lighting  5 
the  gas  in  a  metropolitan  back-parlor  w-ith  a  box  of 
patent  matches;  and  do  what  we  will,  there  is  always 
something  made  to  our  hand,  if  it  were  only  our  fingers. 
But  there  was  something  worse  than  foolishness  pla- 
carded in  Creil  Church.  The  Association  of  the  Living  10 
Rosary  (of  which  I  had  never  previously  heard)  is  respon- 
sible for  that.  This  association  was  founded,  according  to 
the  printed  advertisement,  by  a  brief  of  Pope  Gregory 
Sixteenth,  on  the  17th  of  January,  1832:  according  to  a 
colored  bas  relief,  it  seems  to  have  been  founded,  some-  15 
time  or  other,  by  the  Virgin  giving  one  rosary  to  Saint 
Dominic,  and  the  Infant  Saviour  giving  another  to  Saint 
Catherine  of  Sienna.  Pope  Gregory  is  not  so  imposing, 
but  he  is  nearer  hand.  I  could  not  distinctly  make  out 
whether  the  association  was  entirely  devotional,  or  had  20 
an  eye  to  good  works;  at  least  it  is  highly  organized:  the 
names  of  fourteen  matrons  and  misses  were  filled  in  for 
each  week  of  the  month  as  associates,  with  one  other, 
generally  a  married  woman,  at  the  top  for  Zelatrice:  the 
choragus  of  the  band.  Indulgences,  plenary  and  partial,  25 
follow  on  the  performance  of  the  duties  of  the  association. 
"  The  partial  indulgences  are  attached  to  the  recitation  of 
the  rosary."  On  "  the  recitation  of  the  required  dizaine," 
a  partial  indulgence  promptly  follows.  When  people  serve 
the  kingdom  of  Heaven  with  a  pass-book  in  their  hands,  30 
I  should  always  be  afraid  lest  they  should  carry  the 
same  commercial  spirit  into  their  dealings  with  their 
fellow-men,  which  would  make  a  sad  and  sordid  business 
of  this  life. 


1 1 8  An  Inland  Voyage 

There  is  one  more  article,  however,  of  happier  import. 
"All  these  indulgences,"  it  appeared,  "are  applicable  to 
souls  in  purgatory."  For  God's  sake,  ye  ladies  of  Creil, 
apply  them  all  to  the  souls  in  purgatory  without  delay! 
5  Burns  would  take  no  hire  for  his  last  songs,  preferring  to 
serve  his  country  out  of  unmixed  love.  Suppose  you  were 
to  imitate  the  exciseman,  mesdames,  and  even  if  the  souls 
in  purgatory  were  not  greatly  bettered,  some  souls  in 
Creil  upon  the  Oise  would  find  themselves  none  the  worse 

lo  either  here  or  hereafter. 

I  cannot  help  wondering,  as  I  transcribe  these  notes, 
whether  a  Protestant  born  and  bred  is  in  a  fit  state  to 
understand  these  signs,  and  do  them  w'hat  justice  they 
deserve;   and   I    cannot   help   answering  that   he   is   not. 

15  They  cannot  look  so  merely  ugly  and  mean  to  the  faithful 
as  they  do  to  me.  I  see  that  as  clearly  as  a  proposition  in 
Euclid.  For  these  believers  are  neither  weak  nor  wicked. 
They  can  put  their  tablet  commending  Saint  Joseph  for 
his  despatch,  as  if  he  were  still  a  village  carpenter;  they 

20  can  "  recite  the  required  dizaine,"  and  metaphorically 
pocket  the  indulgence,  as  if  they  had  done  a  job  for  heaven  ; 
and  then  they  can  go  out  and  look  down  unabashed  upon 
this  wonderful  river  flowing  by,  and  up  without  confusion 
at  the  pin-point  stars,  which  are  themselves  great  worlds 

25  full  of  flowing  rivers  greater  than  the  Oise.  I  see  it  as 
plainly,  I  say,  as  a  proposition  in  Euclid,  that  my  Protes- 
tant mind  has  missed  the  point,  and  that  there  goes  with 
these  deformities  some  higher  and  more  religious  spirit 
than  I  dream. 

30  I  wonder  if  other  people  would  make  the  same  allow- 
ances for  me?  Like  the  ladies  of  Creil,  having  recited 
my  rosary  of  toleration,  I  look  for  my  indulgence  on  the 
spot. 


PRECY  AND  THE  MARIONETTES 

We  made  Precy  about  sundown.  The  plain  is  rich  with 
tufts  of  poplar.  In  a  wide,  luminous  curve,  the  Oise  lay 
under  the  hill-side.  A  faint  mist  began  to  rise  and  con- 
found the  different  distances  together.  There  was  not  a 
sound  audible  but  that  of  the  sheep-bells  in  some  meadows  5 
by  the  river,  and  the  creaking  of  a  cart  down  the  long  road 
that  descends  the  hill.  The  villas  in  their  gardens,  the 
shops  along  the  street,  all  seemed  to  have  been  deserted  the 
day  before ;  and  I  felt  inclined  to  walk  discreetly  as  one 
feels  in  a  silent  forest.  All  of  a  sudden,  we  came  round  a  10 
corner,  and  there,  in  a  little  green  round  the  church,  was  a 
bevy  of  girls  in  Parisian  costumes  playing  croquet.  Their 
laughter  and  the  hollow  sound  of  ball  and  mallet,  made 
a  cheery  stir  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  the  look  of  these 
slim  figures,  all  corseted  and  ribboned,  produced  an  answer-  15 
able  disturbance  in  our  hearts.  We  were  within  sniff  of 
Paris,  it  seemed.  And  here  were  females  of  our  own 
species  playing  croquet,  just  as  if  Precy  had  been  a  place  in 
real  life,  instead  of  a  stage  in  the  fairy  land  of  travel. 
For,  to  be  frank,  the  peasant  woman  is  scarcely  to  be  20 
counted  as  a  woman  at  all,  and  after  having  passed  by 
such  a  succession  of  people  in  petticoats  digging  and  hoeing 
and  making  dinner,  this  company  of  coquettes  under  arms 
made  quite  a  surprising  feature  in  the  landscape,  and  con- 
vinced us  at  once  of  being  fallible  males.  25 

The  inn  at  Precy  is  the  worst  inn  in  France.  Not  even 
in  Scotland  have  I  found  worse  fare.  It  was  kept  by  a 
brother  and  sister,  neither  of  whom  was  out  of  their  teens. 

119 


120  An  Inland  Voyage 

The  sister,  so  to  speak,  prepared  a  meal  for  us;  and  the 
brother,  who  had  been  tippling,  came  in  and  brought  with 
him  a  tipsy  butcher,  to  entertain  us  as  we  ate.  We  found 
pieces  of  loo-warm  pork  among  the  salad,  and  pieces  of  un- 
5  known  yielding  substance  in  the  ragout.  The  butcher 
entertained  us  with  pictures  of  Parisian  life,  with  which 
he  professed  himself  well  acquainted ;  the  brother  sitting 
the  while  on  the  edge  of  the  billiard  table,  toppling  precari- 
ously, and  sucking  the  stump  of  a  cigar.     In  the  midst 

10  of  these  diversions,  bang  went  a  drum  past  the  house,  and 
a  hoarse  voice  began  issuing  a  proclamation.  It  was  a 
man  with  marionettes  announcing  a  performance  for  that 
evening. 

He  had  set  up  his  caravan  and  lighted  his  candles  on 

15  another  part  of  the  girls'  croquet  green,  under  one  of  those 

open  sheds  which  are  so   common   in   France   to   shelter 

markets;  and  he  and  his  wife,  by  the  time  we  strolled  up 

there,  were  trying  to  keep  order  with  the  audience. 

It  was  the  most  absurd  contention.     The  show-people 

20  had  set  out  a  certain  number  of  benches;  and  all  who  sat 
upon  them  were  to  pay  a  couple  of  sous  for  the  accommoda- 
tion. They  were  always  quite  full — a  bumper  house — 
as  long  as  nothing  was  going  forward ;  but  let  the  show- 
woman  appear  with  an  eye  to  a  collection,  and  at  the  first 

25  rattle  of  her  tambourine,  the  audience  slipped  off  the 
seats,  and  stood  round  on  the  outside  with  their  hands  in 
their  pockets.  It  certainly  would  have  tried  an  angel's 
temper.  The  showman  roared  from  the  proscenium ;  he 
had  been  all  over  France,  and  nowhere,  nowhere,  "  not 

30  even  on  the  borders  of  Germany,"  had  he  met  with  such 
misconduct.  Such  thieves  and  rogues  and  rascals,  as  he 
called  them !  And  every  now  and  again,  the  wife  issued 
on  another  round,  and  added  her  shrill  quota  to  the  tirade. 
I  remarked  here,  as  elsewhere,  how  far  more  copious  is  the 


Precy  and  the  Marionettes  121 

female  mind  in  the  material  of  insult.  The  audience 
laughed  in  high  good  humor  over  the  man's  declama- 
tions; but  they  bridled  and  cried  aloud  under  the  woman's 
pungent  sallies.  She  picked  out  the  sore  points.  She 
had  the  honor  of  the  village  at  her  mercy.  Voices  an-  5 
swered  her  angrily  out  of  the  crowd,  and  received  a  smart- 
ing retort  for  their  trouble.  A  couple  of  old  ladies  beside 
me,  who  had  duly  paid  for  their  seats,  waxed  very  red  and 
indignant,  and  discoursed  to  each  other  audibly  about  the 
impudence  of  these  mountebanks;  but  as  soon  as  the  10 
show-woman  caught  a  whisper  of  this,  she  was  down  upon 
them  with  a  swoop :  if  mesdames  could  persuade  their 
neighbors  to  act  with  common  honesty,  the  mountebanks, 
she  assured  them,  would  be  polite  enough:  mesdames 
had  probably  had  their  bowl  of  soup,  and  perhaps  a  glass  15 
of  wine  that  evening;  the  mountebanks  also  had  a  taste 
for  soup,  and  did  not  choose  to  have  their  little  earnings 
stolen  from  them  before  their  eyes.  Once,  things  came  as 
far  as  a  brief  personal  encounter  between  the  showman 
and  some  lads,  in  which  the  former  went  down  as  readily  20 
as  one  of  his  own  marionettes  to  a  peal  of  jeering 
laughter. 

I  was  a  good  deal  astonished  at  this  scene,  because  I  am 
pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  French  strollers, 
more  or  less  artistic;  and  have  always  found  them  singu-  25 
larly  pleasing.  Any  stroller  must  be  dear  to  the  right- 
thinking  heart;  if  it  were  only  as  a  living  protest  against 
offices  and  the  mercantile  spirit,  and  as  something  to 
remind  us,  that  life  is  not  by  necessity  the  kind  of  thing  iwe 
generally  make  it.  Even  a  German  band,  if  you  see  it  30 
leaving  town  in  the  early  morning  for  a  campaign  in 
country  places,  among  trees  and  meadows,  has  a  romantic 
flavor  for  the  imagination.  There  is  nobody,  under 
thirty,  so  dead  but  his  heart  will  stir  a  little  at  sight  of  a 


122  An  Inland  Voyage 

gipsies'  camp.  "We  are  not  cotton-spinners  all;"  or, 
at  least,  not  all  through.  There  is  some  life  in  humanity 
yet:  and  youth  will  now  and  again  find  a  brave  word  to 
say  in  dispraise  of  riches,  and  throw  up  a  situation  to  go 
5  strolling  with  a  knapsack. 

An  Englishman  has  always  special  facilities  for  inter- 
course with  French  gymnasts;  for  England  is  the  natural 
home  of  gjmnasts.  This  or  that  fellow,  in  his  tights  and 
spangles,  is  sure  to  know  a  word  or  two  of  English,  to 

10  have  drunk  English  aff-n-aff,  and  perhaps  performed  in 
an  English  music-hall.  He  is  a  countryman  of  mine  by 
profession.  He  leaps,  like  the  Belgian  boating  men,  to 
the  notion  that  I  must  be  an  athlete  myself. 

But  the  g}'mnast  is  not  my  favorite;  he  has  little  or  no 

15  tincture  of  the  artist  in  his  composition;  his  soul  is  small 
and  pedestrian,  for  the  most  part,  since  his  profession 
makes  no  call  upon  it,  and  does  not  accustom  him  to  high 
ideas.  But  if  a  man  is  only  so  much  of  an  actor  that  he 
can  stumble  through  a  farce,  he  is  made  free  of  a  new 

20  order  of  thoughts.  He  has  something  else  to  think  about 
beside  the  money-box.  He  has  a  pride  of  his  own,  and, 
what  is  of  far  more  importance,  he  has  an  aim  before  him 
that  he  can  never  quite  attain.  He  has  gone  upon  a  pil- 
grimage that  will  last  him  his  life-long,  because  there  is  no 

25  end  to  it  short  of  perfection.  He  will  better  upon  himself 
a  little  day  by  day ;  or  even  if  he  has  given  up  the  attempt, 
he  will  always  remember  that  once  upon  a  time  he  had 
conceived  this  high  ideal,  that  once  upon  a  time  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  a  star.    "  'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and 

30  lost."  Although  the  moon  should  have  nothing  to  say  to 
Endymion,  although  he  should  settle  down  with  Audrey 
and  feed  pigs,  do  you  not  think  he  would  move  with  a 
better  grace,  and  cherish  higher  thoughts  to  the  end  ? 
The  louts  he  meets  at  church  never  had  a  fancy  above 


Precy  and  the  Marionettes  123 

Audrey's  snood ;  but  there  is  a  reminiscence  in  Endym- 
ion's  heart  that,  like  a  spice,  keeps  it  fresh  and  haughty. 

To  be  even  one  of  the  outskirters  of  art,  leaves  a  fine 
stamp  on  a  man's  countenance.     I  remember  once  dining 
vi'ith  a  party  in  the  inn  at  Chateau  Landon.     Most  of  5 
them  were  unmistakable  bagmen ;  others  well-to-do  peas- 
antry ;  but  there  was  one  young  fellow  in  a  blouse,  whose 
face    stood    out    from    among   the    rest    surprisingly.      It 
looked  more  finished ;  more  of  the  spirit  looked  out  through 
It;  it  had  a  living,  expressive  air,  and  you  could  see  that  10 
his  eyes  took  things  in.     My  companion  and  I  wondered 
greatly  who  and  what  he  could  be.     It  was  fair  time  In 
Chateau  Landon,  and  when  we  went  along  to  the  booths, 
we  had  our  question  answered ;  for  there  was  our  friend 
busily  fiddling  for  the  peasants  to  caper  to.     He  was  a  15 
wandering  violinist. 

A  troop  of  strollers  once  came  to  the  inn  where  I  was 
staying,  in  the  department  of  Seine  et  Marne.  There  was 
a  father  and  mother;  two  daughters,  brazen,  blowsy 
huzzies,  who  sang  and  acted,  without  an  idea  of  how  to  20 
set  about  either;  and  a  dark  young  man,  like  a  tutor,  a 
recalcitrant  house-painter,  who  sang  and  acted  not  amiss. 
The  mother  was  the  genius  of  the  party,  so  far  as  genius 
can  be  spoken  of  with  regard  to  such  a  pack  of  incompe- 
tent humbugs;  and  her  husband  could  not  find  words  to  25 
express  his  admiration  for  her  comic  countryman.  "  You 
should  see  my  old  woman,"  said  he,  and  nodded  his  beery 
countenance.  One  night,  they  performed  in  the  stable- 
yard,  with  flaring  lamps:  a  wretched  exhibition,  coldly 
looked  upon  by  a  village  audience.  Next  night,  as  soon  30 
as  the  lamps  were  lighted,  there  came  a  plump  of  rain,  and 
they  had  to  sweep  away  their  baggage  as  fast  as  possible, 
and  make  off  to  the  barn  where  they  harbored,  cold,  wet, 
and  supperless.     In  the  morning,  a  dear  friend  of  mine, 


124  An   Inland  Voyage 

who  has  as  warm  a  heart  for  strollers  as  I  have  myself, 
made  a  little  collection,  and  sent  it  by  my  hands  to  comfort 
them  for  their  disappointment.  I  gave  it  to  the  father ;  he 
thanked  me  cordially,  and  we  drank  a  cup  together  in  the 
5  kitchen,  talking  of  roads,  and  audiences,  and  hard  times. 
When  I  was  going,  up  got  my  old  stroller,  and  off 
with  his  hat.  "  I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  "  that  Monsieur 
will  think  me  altogether  a  beggar;  but  1  have  another 
demand  to  make  upon  him."     I  began  to  hate  him  on  the 

10  spot.  "  We  play  again  to-night,"  he  went  on.  "  Of 
course,  I  shall  refuse  to  accept  any  more  money  from 
Monsieur  and  his  friends,  who  have  been  already  so 
liberal.  But  our  program  of  to-night  is  something  truly 
creditable;  and   I  cling  to  the  idea  that   Monsieur  will 

IS  honor  us  with  his  presence."  And  then,  with  a  shrug 
and  a  smile:  "Monsieur  understands — the  vanity  of  an 
artist!  "  Save  the  mark!  The  vanity  of  an  artist!  That 
is  the  kind  of  thing  that  reconciles  me  to  life:  a  ragged, 
tippling,  incompetent  old   rogue,  with  the  manners  of  a 

20  gentleman,  and  the  vanity  of  an  artist,  to  keep  up  his 
self-respect! 

But  the  man  after  my  own  heart  is  M.  de  Vauversin. 
It  is  nearly  two  years  since  I  saw  him  first,  and  indeed  I 
hope  I  may  see  him  often  again.     Here  is  his  first  pro- 

25  gram,  as  I  found  it  on  the  breakfast  table,  and  have 
kept  it  ever  since  as  a  relic  of  bright  days: 

"  Mesdames  et  Messieurs, 

"  Mademoiselle  Ferrario  et  M.  de  Vawversin  auront  Vhonneur 
de  chanter  ce  soir  les  morceaux  suivants. 
30      "Mademoiselle  Ferrario  chantera — Mignon — Oiseaux  Legers — 
France — Des  Frangais  dorment  la — Le  chateau  bleu — Oii  voulez- 
vous  aller? 

"  M.    de    Vauversin — Madame   Fontaine    et   M.    Robinet — Les 
plongeurs  a  cheval — Le  Mart  mecontent — Tais-toi,  gamin — Mon 
35  voisin  I'original — Heureux  comme  (a — Comme  on  est  trompi." 


Precy  and  the  Marionettes  125 

They  made  a  stage  at  one  end  of  the  sallc-a-t7iangcr. 
And  what  a  sight  it  was  to  see  M.  de  Vauversin,  with  a 
cigarette  in  his  mouth,  twanging  a  guitar,  and  following 
Mademoiselle  Ferrario's  eyes  with  the  obedient,  kindly 
look  of  a  dog!  The  entertainment  wound  up  with  a  tom-  5 
bola,  or  auction  of  lottery  tickets:  an  admirable  amuse- 
ment, with  all  the  excitement  of  gambling,  and  no  hope  of 
gain  to  make  you  ashamed  of  your  eagerness;  for  there, 
all  is  loss;  you  make  haste  to  be  out  of  pocket;  it  is  a 
competition  who  shall  lose  most  money  for  the  benefit  of  10 
M.  de  Vauversin  and  Mademoiselle  Ferrario. 

M.  de  Vauversin  is  a  small  man,  with  a  great  head  of 
black   hair,   a  vivacious   and   engaging  air,    and    a   smile 
that  would  be  delightful  if  he  had  better  teeth.     He  was 
once  an  actor  in  the  Chatelet;  but  he  contracted  a  nerv-  15 
ous  affection  from  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  footlights, 
which  unfitted  him  for  the  stage.     At  this  crisis  Made- 
moiselle   Ferrario,    otherwise    Mademoiselle   Rita   of   the 
Alcazar,    agreed   to   share  his   wandering   fortunes.      "  I 
could  never  forget  the  generosity  of  that  lady,"  said  he.  20 
He  wears  trousers  so  tight  that  it  has  long  been  a  problem 
to  all  who  knew  him  how  he  manages  to  get  in  and  out 
of  them.     He  sketches  a  little  in  water-colors;  he  writes 
verses;   he   is   the  most   patient  of   fishermen,   and   spent 
long   days   at   the   bottom    of    the    inn-garden    fruitlessly  25 
dabbling  a  line  in  the  clear  river. 

You  should  hear  him  recounting  his  experiences  over  a 
bottle  of  wine ;  such  a  pleasant  vein  of  talk  as  he  has,  with 
a  ready  smile  at  his  own  mishaps,  and  every  now  and  then 
a  sudden  gravity,  like  a  man  who  should  hear  the  surf  roar  30 
while  he  was  telling  the  perils  of  the  deep.  For  it  was  no 
longer  ago  than  last  night,  perhaps,  that  the  receipts  only 
amounted  to  a  franc  and  a  half,  to  cover  three  francs  of 
railway  fare  and  two  of  board  and  lodging.    The  Maire^ 


126  An   Inland  Voyage 

a  man  worth  a  million  of  money,  sat  in  the  front  seat, 
repeatedly  applaudinji:  Mademoiselle  Ferrario,  and  yet 
gave  no  more  than  three  sous  the  whole  evening.  Lx)cal 
authorities  look  with  such  an  evil  eye  upon  the  strolling 
5  artist.  Alas!  I  know  it  well,  who  have  been  myself  taken 
for  one,  and  pitilessly  incarcerated  on  the  strength  of  the 
misapprehension.  Once,  M.  de  Vauversin  visited  a  com- 
missary of  police  for  permission  to  sing.  The  commissary, 
who  was  smoking  at  his  ease,  politely  doffed  his  hat  upon 

10  the  singer's  entrance.  "Mr.  Commissary,"  he  began,  "I 
am  an  artist."  And  on  went  the  commissary's  hat  again. 
No  courtesy  for  the  companions  of  Apollo !  "  They  are 
as  degraded  as  that,"  said  M.  de  Vauversin,  with  a  sweep 
of  his  cigarette. 

IS  But  what  pleased  me  most  was  one  outbreak  of  his, 
when  we  had  been  talking  all  the  evening  of  the  rubs, 
indignities,  and  pinchings  of  his  wandering  life.  Some  one 
said,  it  would  be  better  to  have  a  million  of  money  down, 
and  Mademoiselle  Ferrario  admitted  that  she  would  prefer 

20  that  mightily.  "Eh  bien,  moi  non ; — not  I,"  cried  De 
Vauversin,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand.  "  If  any  one 
is  a  failure  in  the  world,  is  it  not  I  ?  I  had  an  art,  in  which 
I  have  done  things  well — as  well  as  some — better  per- 
haps than  others ;  and  now  it  is  closed  against  me.    I  must 

25  go  about  the  country  gathering  coppers  and  singing  non- 
sense. Do  you  think  I  regret  my  life?  Do  j'ou  think  I 
would  rather  be  a  fat  burgess,  like  a  calf?  Not  I !  I  have 
had  moments  when  I  have  been  applauded  on  the  boards: 
I  think  nothing  of  that;  but  I  have  known  in  my  own  mind 

30  sometimes,  when  I  had  not  a  clap  from  the  whole  house; 
that  I  had  found  a  true  intonation,  or  an  exact  and  speak- 
ing gesture;  and  then,  messieurs,  I  have  known  what 
pleasure  w^as,  what  it  was  to  do  a  thing  well,  what  it  was 
Xo  be  an  artist.    And  to  know  what  art  is,  is  to  have  an 


Precy  and  the  Marionettes  127 

interest  for  ever,  such  as  no  burgess  can  find  in  his  petty 
concerns.  Tenez,  messieurs,  je  vais  vous  le  dire — it  is  like 
a  religion." 

Such,  making  some  allowance  for  the  tricks  of  memory 
and  the  inaccuracies  of  translation,  was  the  profession  of  5 
faith  of  M.  de  Vauversin.    I  have  given  him  his  own  name 
lest  any  other  wanderer  should  come  across  him,  with  his 
guitar    and    cigarette,    and    Mademoiselle    Ferrario;    for 
should   not   all   the  world   delight   to   honor  this  unfor- 
tunate and  loyal  follower  of  the  Muses?     May  Apollo  10 
send  him  rimes  hitherto  undreamed  of ;  may  the  river  be 
no  longer  scanty  of  her  silver  fishes  to  his  lure;  may  the 
cold  not  pinch  him  on  long  winter  rides,  nor  the  village 
jack-in-office   affront   him   with    unseemly   manners;   and 
may  he  never  miss  Mademoiselle  Ferrario  from  his  side,  15 
to   follow  with   his  dutiful  eyes  and   accompany  on   the 
guitar! 

The  marionettes  made  a  very  dismal  entertainment. 
They  performed  a  piece,  called  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  in 
five  mortal  acts,  and  all  written  in  Alexandrines,  fully  as  20 
long  as  the  performers.  One  marionette  was  the  king; 
another  the  wicked  counsellor;  a  third,  credited  with 
exceptional  beauty,  represented  Thisbe;  and  then  there 
were  guards,  and  obdurate  fathers,  and  walking  gentlemen. 
Nothing  particular  took  place  during  the  two  or  three  acts  25 
that  I  sat  out ;  but  you  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  the 
unities  were  properly  respected,  and  the  whole  piece,  with 
one  exception,  moved  in  harmony  with  classical  rules. 
That  exception  was  the  comic  countryman,  a  lean  mario- 
nette in  wooden  shoes,  who  spoke  in  prose  and  in  a  broad  30 
patois  much  appreciated  by  the  audience.  He  took  un- 
constitutional liberties  with  the  person  of  his  sovereign ; 
kicked  his  fellow  marionettes  In  the  mouth  with  his  wooden 
shoes,  and  whenever  none  of  the  versifying  suitors  were 


128  An  Inland  Voyage 

about,  made  love  to  Thisbe  on  his  own  account  in  comic 
prose. 

This  fellow's  evolutions,  and  the  little  prologue,  in 
which  the  showman  made  a  humorous  eulogium  of  his 
5  troop,  praising  their  indifference  to  applause  and  hisses, 
and  their  single  devotion  to  their  art,  were  the  only  cir- 
cumstances in  the  whole  affair  that  you  could  fancy  would 
so  much  as  raise  a  smile.  But  the  villagers  of  Precy 
seemed  delighted.     Indeed,  so  long  as  a  thing  is  an  exhibi- 

10  tion,  and  you  pay  to  see  it,  it  is  nearly  certain  to  amuse.  If 
we  were  charged  so  much  a  head  for  sunsets,  or  if  God 
sent  round  a  drum  before  the  hawthorns  came  in  flower, 
what  a  work  should  we  not  make  about  their  beauty !  But 
these  things,  like  good  companions,  stupid  people  early  cease 

15  to  observe :  and  the  Abstract  Bagman  tittups  past  in  his 
spring  gig,  and  is  positively  not  aware  of  the  flowers  along 
the  lane,  or  the  scenery  of  the  weather  overhead. 


BACK  TO  THE  WORLD 

Of  the  next  two  days'  sail  little  remains  in  my  mind, 
and  nothing  whatever  in  my  note-book.  The  river 
streamed  on  steadily  through  pleasant  riverside  landscapes. 
Washerwomen  in  blue  dresses,  fishers  in  blue  blouses, 
diversified  the  green  banks;  and  the  relation  of  the  two  5 
colors  was  like  that  of  the  flower  and  the  leaf  in  the  forget- 
me-not.  A  symphony  in  forget-me-not ;  I  think  Theo- 
phile  Gautier  might  thus  have  characterized  the  two  days' 
panorama.  The  sky  was  blue  and  cloudless;  and  the 
sliding  surface  of  the  river  held  up,  in  smooth  places,  a  10 
mirror  to  the  heaven  and  the  shores.  The  washerwomen 
hailed  us  laughingly;  and  the  noise  of  trees  and  water 
made  an  accompaniment  to  our  dozing  thoughts,  as  we 
fleeted  down  the  stream. 

The  great  volume,  the  indefatigable  purpose  of  the  river,  15 
held  the  mind  in  chain.    It  seemed  now  so  sure  of  its  end, 
so  strong  and  easy  in  its  gait,  like  a  grown  man  full  of 
determination.     The  surf  was  roaring  for  it  on  the  sands 
of  Havre. 

For  my  own  part,  slipping  along  this  moving  thorough-  20 
fare  in  my  fiddle-case  of  a  canoe,  I  also  was  beginning  to 
grow  aweary  for  my  ocean.  To  the  civilized  man,  there 
must  come,  sooner  or  later,  a  desire  for  civilization.  I 
was  weary  of  dipping  the  paddle ;  I  was  weary  of  living 
on  the  skirts  of  life;  I  wished  to  be  in  the  thick  of  it  25 
once  more;  I  wished  to  get  to  work;  I  wished  to  meet 
people  who  understood  my  own  speech,  and  could  meet 

129 


130  An  Inland  Voyage 

with  me  on  equal  terms,  as  a  man,  and  no  longer  as  a 
curiosity. 

And  so  a  letter  at  Pontoise  decided  us,  and  we  drew 
up  our  keels  for  the  last  time  out  of  that  river  of  Oise 
5  that  had  faithfully  piloted  them,  through  rain  and  sun- 
shine, for  so  long.  For  so  many  miles  had  this  fleet  and 
footless  beast  of  burthen  charioted  our  fortunes,  that  we 
turned  our  back  upon  it  with  a  sense  of  separation.  We 
had  made  a  long  detour  out  of  the  world,  but  now  we  were 

ID  back  in  the  familiar  places,  where  life  itself  makes  all  the 
running,  and  we  are  carried  to  meet  adventure  without  a 
stroke  of  the  paddle.  Now  we  were  to  return,  like  the 
voyager  in  the  play,  and  see  what  rearrangements  fortune 
had  perfected  the  while  in  our  surroundings;  what  sur- 

15  prises  stood  ready  made  for  us  at  home ;  and  whither  and 
how  far  the  world  had  voyaged  in  our  absence.  You  may 
paddle  all  day  long;  but  it  is  when  you  come  back  at  night- 
fall, and  look  in  at  the  familiar  room,  that  you  find  Love  or 
Death  awaiting  you  beside  the  stove;  and  the  most  beauti- 

20  f ul  adventures  are  not  those  we  go  to  seek.  . 


TRAVELS  WITH  A   DONKEY 
IN  THE  CEVENNES 


PREFACE 

My  dear  Sidney  Colvin, 

The  journey  which  this  little  book  is  to  describe  was 
very  agreeable  and  fortunate  for  me.  After  an  uncouth 
beginning,  I  had  the  best  of  luck  to  the  end.  But  we 
are  all  travelers  in  what  John  Bunyan  calls  the  wilder-  5 
ness  of  this  world, — all,  too,  travelers  with  a  donkey; 
and  the  best  that  we  find  in  our  travels  is  an  honest 
friend.  He  is  a  fortunate  voyager  who  finds  many.  We 
travel,  indeed,  to  find  them.  They  are  the  end  and  the 
reward  of  life.  They  keep  us  worthy  of  ourselves;  and  10 
when  we  are  alone,  we  are  only  nearer  to  the  absent. 

Every  book  is,  in  an  intimate  sense,  a  circular  letter 
to  the  friends  of  him  who  writes  it.  They  alone  take 
his  meaning;  they  find  private  messages,  assurances  of  love, 
and  expressions  of  gratitude,  dropped  for  them  in  every  15 
corner.  The  public  is  but  a  generous  patron  who  defrays 
the  postage.  Yet  though  the  letter  is  directed  to  all,  we 
have  an  old  and  kindly  custom  of  addressing  it  on  the 
outside  to  one.  Of  what  shall  a  man  be  proud,  if  he  is 
not  proud  of  his  friends?  And  so,  my  dear  Sidney  Colvin,  20 
it  is  with  pride  that  I  sign  myself  affectionately  yours, 

R.  L.  S. 


VELAY 


"  Many  are  the  mighty  things,  and  naught  is  more  mighty 
than  man.  .  .  .  He  masters  by  his  devices  the  tenant  of  the 
fields."— Antigone. 

"  Who  hath  loosed  the  bands  of  the  wild  ass  ?  "—Job. 


Our  Lady  of  the  Snows 


TRAVELS   WITH    A    DONKEY 


CHAPTER  I 


THE    DONKEY,    THE    PACK,    AND    THE    PACK-SADDLE 


In  a  little  place  called  Le  Monastier,  In  a  pleasant 
highland  valley  fifteen  miles  from  Le  Puy,  I  spent  about 
a  month  of  fine  days.  Monastier  is  notable  for  the  mak- 
ing of  lace,  for  drunkenness,  for  freedom  of  language, 
and  for  unparalleled  political  dissension.  There  are  ad-  5 
herents  of  each  of  the  four  French  parties — Legitimists, 
Orleanists,  Imperialists,  and  Republicans — in  this  little 
mountain-town ;  and  they  all  hate,  loathe,  decry,  and 
calumniate  each  other.  Except  for  business  purposes,  or 
to  give  each  other  the  lie  in  a  tavern  brawl,  they  have  lo 
laid  aside  even  the  civility  of  speech.     'Tis  a  mere  moun- 

137 


138  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

tain  Poland.  In  the  midst  of  this  Babylon  I  found  myself 
a  rallying-point ;  every  one  was  anxious  to  be  kind  and 
helpful  to  the  stranger.  This  was  not  merely  from  the 
natural  hospitality  of  mountain  people,  nor  even  from  the 
5  surprise  with  which  I  was  regarded  as  a  man  living  of 
his  own  free  will  in  Le  Monastier,  when  he  might  just  as 
well  have  lived  anywhere  else  in  this  big  world ;  it  arose 
a  good  deal  from  my  projected  excursion  southward 
through  the  Cevennes.    A  traveler  of  my  sort  was  a  thing 

10  hitherto  unheard  of  in  that  district.  I  was  looked  upon 
with  contempt,  like  a  man  who  should  project  a  journey 
to  the  moon,  but  yet  with  a  respectful  interest,  like  one  set- 
ting forth  for  the  inclement  Pole.  All  were  ready  to 
help  in  my  preparations;  a  crowd  of  sympathizers  sup- 

15  ported  me  at  the  critical  moment  of  a  bargain ;  not  a  step 
was  taken  but  was  heralded  by  glasses  round  and  celebrated 
by  a  dinner  or  a  breakfast. 

It  was  already  hard  upon  October  before  I  was  ready 
to  set  forth,  and  at  the  high  altitudes  over  which  my  road 

20  lay  there  was  no  Indian  summer  to  be  looked  for.  I  was 
determined,  if  not  to  camp  out,  at  least  to  have  the  means 
of  camping  out  in  my  possession ;  for  there  is  nothing 
more  harassing  to  an  easy  mind  than  the  necessity  of 
reaching  shelter  by  dusk,  and  the  hospitality  of  a  village 

25  inn  is  not  always  to  be  reckoned  sure  by  those  who  trudge 
on  foot.  A  tent,  above  all  for  a  solitary  traveler,  is 
troublesome  to  pitch,  and  troublesome  to  strike  again; 
and  even  on  the  march  it  forms  a  conspicuous  feature  in 
your  baggage.     A   sleeping-sack,   on   the   other   hand,   is 

30  always  ready — you  have  only  to  get  into  it ;  it  serves  a 
double  purpose — a  bed  by  night,  a  portmanteau  by  day; 
and  it  does  not  advertise  your  intention  of  camping  out 
to  every  curious  passer-by.  This  is  a  huge  point.  If 
the  camp  is  not  secret,  it  is  but  a  troubled  resting-place; 


Donkey,   Pack,  and  Pack-Saddle  139 

you  become  a  public  character;  the  convivial  rustic  visits 
your  bedside  after  an  early  supper;  and  you  must  sleep 
with  one  eye  open,  and  be  up  before  the  day.  I  decided  on  a 
sleeping-sack;  and  after  repeated  visits  to  Le  Puy,  and  a 
deal  of  high  living  for  myself  and  my  advisers,  a  sleeping-  5 
sack  was  designed,  constructed,  and  triumphantly  brought 
home. 

This  child  of  my  invention  was  nearly  six  feet  square, 
exclusive  of  two  triangular  flaps  to  serve  as  a  pillow  by 
night  and  as  the  top  and  bottom  of  the  sack  by  day.     I  10 
call  it  "  the  sack,"  but  it  was  never  a  sack  by  more  than 
courtesy:  only  a  sort  of  long  roll  or  sausage,  green  water- 
proof cart-cloth  without  and  blue  sheep's  fur  within.     It 
was  commodious  as  a  valise,   warm  and  dry  for  a  bed. 
There  was  luxurious  turning-room  for  one;  and  at  a  pinch  15 
the  thing  might  serve  for  two.     I  could  bury  myself  in 
it  up  to  the  neck ;  for  my  head  I  trusted  to  a  fur  cap,  with 
a  hood  to  fold  down  over  my  ears,  and  a  band  to  pass  un- 
der my  nose  like  a  respirator;  and  in  case  of  heavy  rain 
I  proposed  to  make  myself  a  little  tent,  or  tentlet,  with  20 
my  waterproof  coat,  three  stones,  and  a  bent  branch. 

It  will  readily  be  conceived  that  I  could  not  carry  this 
huge  package  on  my  own,  merely  human,  shoulders.  It 
remained  to  choose  a  beast  of  burden.  Now,  a  horse  is 
a  fine  lady  among  animals,  flighty,  timid,  delicate  in  eating,  25 
of  tender  health ;  he  is  too  valuable  and  too  restive  to  be 
left  alone,  so  that  you  are  chained  to  your  brute  as  to  a 
fellow  galley-slave;  a  dangerous  road  puts  him  out  of  his 
wits;  in  short,  he's  an  uncertain  and  exacting  ally,  and 
adds  thirty-fold  to  the  troubles  of  the  voyager.  What  I  30 
required  was  something  cheap  and  small  and  hardy,  and 
of  a  stolid  and  peaceful  temper;  and  all  these  requisites 
pointed  to  a  donkey. 

There  dwelt  an  old  man  in  Monastier,  of  rather  un- 


140  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

sound  intellect  according  to  some,  much  followed  by  street- 
boys,  and  known  to  fame  as  Father  Adam.  Father  Adam 
had  a  cart,  and  to  draw  the  cart  a  diminutive  she-ass,  not 
much  bigger  than  a  dog,  the  color  of  a  mouse,  with  a 

S  kindly  eye  and  a  determined  under-jaw.  There  was  some- 
thing neat  and  high-bred,  a  quakerish  elegance,  about  the 
rogue  that  hit  my  fancy  on  the  spot.  Our  first  inter- 
view was  in  Monastier  market-place.  To  prove  her  good 
temper,  one  child   after  another  was  set  upon  her  back 

10  to  ride,  and  one  after  another  went  head  over  heels  into  the 
air;  until  a  want  of  confidence  began  to  reign  in  youthful 
bosoms,  and  the  experiment  was  discontinued  from  a 
dearth  of  subjects.  I  was  already  backed  by  a  deputation 
of  my  friends ;  but  as  If  this  were  not  enough,  all  the 

15  buyers  and  sellers  came  round  and  helped  me  in  the  bar- 
gain ;  and  the  ass  and  I  and  Father  Adam  were  the 
center  of  a  hubbub  for  near  half  an  hour.  At  length 
she  passed  into  my  service  for  the  consideration  of  sixty- 
five  francs  and  a  glass  of  brandy.     The  sack  had  already 

20  cost  eighty  francs  and  two  glasses  of  beer ;  so  that  Mo- 
destine,  as  I  instantly  baptized  her,  was  upon  all  accounts 
the  cheaper  article.  Indeed,  that  was  as  it  should  be;  for 
she  was  only  an  appurtenance  of  my  mattress,  or  self- 
acting  bedstead  on  four  casters. 

25  I  had  a  last  interview  with  Father  Adam  in  a  billiard- 
room  at  the  witching  hour  of  dawn,  when  I  administered 
the  brandy.  He  professed  himself  greatly  touched  by  the 
separation,  and  declared  he  had  often  bought  w'hite  bread 
for   the   donkey  when   he   had   been   content   with   black 

30 bread  for  himself;  but  this,  according  to  the  best  authori- 
ties, must  have  been  a  flight  of  fancy.  He  had  a  name 
in  the  village  for  brutally  misusing  the  ass;  yet  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  shed  a  tear,  and  the  tear  made  a  clean  mark 
down  one  cheek. 


Donkey,   Pack,  and  Pack-Saddle  141 

By  the  advice  of  a  fallacious  local  saddler,  a  leather 
pad  was  made  for  me  with  rings  to  fasten  on  my  bundle; 
and  I  thoughtfully  completed  my  kit  and  arranged  my 
toilet.  By  way  of  armory  and  utensils,  I  took  a  re- 
volver, a  little  spirit-lamp  and  pan,  a  lantern  and  some  5 
half-penny  candles,  a  jack-knife  and  a  large  leather  flask. 
The  main  cargo  consisted  of  two  entire  changes  of  warm 
clothing — besides  my  traveling  wear  of  country  velveteen, 
pilot-coat,  and  knitted  spencer — some  books,  and  my  rail- 
way-rug, which,  being  also  in  the  form  of  a  bag,  10 
made  me  a  double  castle  for  cold  nights.  The  perma- 
nent larder  was  represented  by  cakes  of  chocolate  and 
tins  of  Bologna  sausage.  All  this,  except  what  I  carried 
about  my  person,  was  easily  stowed  into  the  sheepskin  bag ; 
and  by  good  fortune  I  threw  in  my  empty  knapsack,  rather  15 
for  convenience  of  carriage  than  from  any  thought  that 
I  should  want  it  on  my  journey.  For  more  immediate 
needs,  I  took  a  leg  of  cold  mutton,  a  bottle  of  Beaujolais, 
an  empty  bottle  to  carry  milk,  an  egg-beater,  and  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  black  bread  and  white,  like  Father  20 
Adam,  for  myself  and  donkey,  only  in  my  scheme  of  things 
the  destinations  were  reversed. 

Monastrians,  of  all  shades  of  thought  in  politics,  had 
agreed  in  threatening  me  with  many  ludicrous  misadven- 
tures, and  with  sudden  death  in  many  surprising  forms.  25 
Cold,  wolves,  robbers,  above  all  the  nocturnal  practical 
joker,  were  daily  and  eloquently  forced  on  my  attention. 
Yet  in  these  vaticinations,  the  true,  patent  danger  was 
left  out.  Like  Christian,  it  was  from  my  pack  I  suffered 
by  the  way.  Before  telling  my  own  mishaps,  let  me,  in  30 
two  words,  relate  the  lesson  of  my  experience.  If  the 
pack  is  well  strapped  at  the  ends,  and  hung  at  full  length 
— not  doubled,  for  your  life — across  the  pack-saddle,  the 
traveler  is  safe.     The  saddle  will  certainly  not  fit,  such 


142  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

is  the  imperfection  of  our  transitory  life;  it  will  assuredly 
topple  and  tend  to  overset ;  but  there  are  stones  on  every 
roadside,  and  a  man  soon  learns  the  art  of  correcting  any 
tendency  to  overbalance  with  a  well-adjusted  stone. 

5  On  the  day  of  my  departure  I  was  up  a  little  after  five ; 
by  six,  we  began  to  load  the  donkey ;  and  ten  minutes 
after,  my  hopes  were  in  the  dust.  The  pad  would  not 
stay  on  Modestine's  back  for  half  a  moment.  I  returned 
it  to  its  maker,  with  whom  I  had  so  contumelious  a  passage 

10  that  the  street  outside  was  crowded  from  wall  to  wall  with 
gossips  looking  on  and  listening.  The  pad  changed  hands 
with  much  vivacity;  perhaps  it  would  be  more  descrip- 
tive to  say  that  we  threw  it  at  each  other's  heads;  and 
at  any  rate,  we  were  very  warm  and  unfriendly,  and  spoke 

15  with  a  deal  of  freedom. 

I  had  a  common  donkey  pack-saddle — a  harde,  as  they 
call  it — fitted  upon  Modestine;  and  once  more  loaded  her 
with  my  effects.  The  doubled  sack,  my  pilot-coat  (for 
it  was  warm,  and  I  was  to  walk  in  my  waistcoat),  a  great 

20  bar  of  black  bread,  and  an  open  basket  containing  the 
white  bread,  the  mutton,  and  the  bottles,  were  all  corded 
together  in  a  very  elaborate  system  of  knots,  and  I  looked 
on  the  result  with  fatuous  content.  In  such  a  monstrous 
deck-cargo,  all  poised  above  the  donkey's  shoulders,  with 

25  nothing  below  to  balance,  and  a  brand-new  pack-saddle 
that  had  not  yet  been  worn  to  fit  the  animal,  and  fastened 
with  brand-new  girths  that  might  be  expected  to  stretch 
and  slacken  by  the  way,  even  a  very  careless  traveler 
should  have  seen  disaster  brewing.    That  elaborate  system 

30  of  knots,  again,  was  the  Vv^ork  of  too  many  sympathizers  to 
be  very  artfully  designed.  It  is  true  they  tightened  the 
cords  with  a  will ;  as  many  as  three  at  a  time  would  have 
a  foot  against  Modestine's  quarters,  and  be  hauling  with 
clenched  teeth;  but  I  learned  afterwards  that  one  thought- 


Donkey,   Pack,  and  Pack-Saddle  143 

fill  person,  without  any  exercise  of  force,  can  make  a  more 
solid  job  than  half  a  dozen  heated  and  enthusiastic  grooms. 
I  was  then  but  a  novice;  even  after  the  misadventure 
of  the  pad  nothing  could  disturb  my  security,  and  I  went 
forth  from  the  stable-door  as  an  ox  goeth  to  the  slaughter.  5 


CHAPTER  II 


THE    GREEN    DONKEY-DRIVER 


The  bell  of  Monastier  was  just  striking  nine  as  I  got 
quit  of  these  preliminary  troubles  and  descended  the  hill 
through  the  common.  As  long  as  I  was  within  sight  of 
the  windows,  a  secret  shame  and  the  fear  of  some  laugh- 

5  able  defeat  withheld  me  from  tampering  with  Modesiine. 
She  tripped  along  upon  her  four  small  hoofs  with  a  sober 
daintiness  of  gait ;  from  time  to  time  she  shook  her  ears 
or  her  tail ;  and  she  looked  so  small  under  the  bundle  that 
my  mind  misgave  me.     We  got  across  the  ford  without 

10  difficulty — there  was  no  doubt  about  the  matter,  she  was 
docility  itself — and  once  on  the  other  bank,  where  the 
road  begins  to  mount  through  pine-woods,  I  took  in  my 
right  hand  the  unhallowed  stafiE,  and  with  a  quaking  spirit 
applied  it  to  the  donkey.     Modestine  brisked  up  her  pace 

15  for  perhaps  three  steps,  and  then  relapsed  into  her  former 
minuet.  Another  application  had  the  same  effect,  and 
so  with  the  third.  I  am  worthy  the  name  of  an  English- 
man, and  it  goes  against  my  conscience  to  lay  my  hand 
rudely  on  a  female.     I  desisted,  and  looked  her  all  over 

20  from  head  to  foot ;  the  poor  brute's  knees  were  trembling 
and  her  breathing  was  distressed ;  it  was  plain  that  she 
could  go  no  faster  on  a  hill.  God  forbid,  thought  I, 
that  I  should  brutalize  this  innocent  creature;  let  her  go 
at  her  own  pace,  and  let  me  patiently  follow. 

25  What  that  pace  was,  there  is  no  word  mean  enough  to 
describe;  it  was  something  as  much  slower  than  a  walk 

144 


The  Green  Donkey-Driver  145 

as  a  walk  is  slower  than  a  run ;  it  kept  me  hanging  on 
each  foot  for  an  incredible  length  of  time;  in  five  minutes 
It  exhausted  the  spirit  and  set  up  a  fever  in  all  the  muscles 
of  the  leg.  And  yet  I  had  to  keep  close  at  hand  and 
measure  my  advance  exactly  upon  hers;  for  if  I  dropped  5 
a  few  yards  into  the  rear,  or  went  on  a  few  yards  ahead, 
Modestine  came  instantly  to  a  halt  and  began  to  browse. 
The  thought  that  this  was  to  last  from  here  to  Alais 
nearly  broke  my  heart.  Of  all  conceivable  journeys,  this 
promised  to  be  the  most  tedious.  I  tried  to  tell  my-  10 
self  it  was  a  lovely  day;  I  tried  to  charm  my  foreboding 
spirit  with  tobacco;  but  I  had  a  vision  ever  present  to 
me  of  the  long,  long  roads,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  a 
pair  of  figures  ever  infinitesimally  moving,  foot  by  foot, 
a  yard  to  the  minute,  and,  like  things  enchanted  in  a  15 
nightmare,  approaching  no  nearer  to  the  goal. 

In  the  meantime  there  came  up  behind  us  a  tall  peasant, 
perhaps  forty  years  of  age,  of  an  ironical  snuffy  counte- 
nance, and  arrayed  in  the  green  tail-coat  of  the  country. 
He  overtook  us  hand  over  hand,  and  stopped  to  consider  20 
our  pitiful  advance. 

"  Your  donkey,"  says  he,  "  is  very  old  ?  " 

I  told  him,  I  believed  not. 

Then,  he  supposed,  we  had  come  far. 

I  told  him,  we  had  but  newly  left  Monastier.  25 

" Et  vous  rnarchez  comme  qa!"  cried  he;  and,  throwing 
back  his  head,  he  laughed  long  and  heartily.  I  watched 
him,  half  prepared  to  feel  offended,  until  he  had  satisfied 
his  mirth;  and  then,  "You  must  have  no  pity  on  these 
animals,"  said  he ;  and,  plucking  a  switch  out  of  a  thicket,  30 
he  began  to  lace  Modestine  about  the  stern-works,  utter- 
ing a  cry.  The  rogue  pricked  up  her  ears  and  broke  into  a 
good  round  pace,  which  she  kept  up  without  flagging, 
and  without  exhibiting  the  least  symptom  of  distress,  as 


146  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

long  as  the  peasant  kept  beside  us.  Her  former  panting 
and  shaking  had  been,  I  regret  to  say,  a  piece  of  comedy. 
My  deus  ex  tnachina,  before  he  left  me,  supplied  some 
excellent,  if  inhumane,  advice;  presented  me  with  the 
5  switch,  which  he  declared  she  would  feel  more  tenderly 
than  my  cane ;  and  finally  taught  me  the  true  cry  or 
masonic  word  of  donkey-drivers,  "  Proof!  "  All  the  time, 
he  regarded  me  with  a  comical  incredulous  air,  which 
was  embarrassing  to  confront ;  and  smiled  over  my  donkey- 

10  driving,  as  I  might  have  smiled  over  his  orthography, 
or  his  green  tail-coat.  But  it  was  not  my  turn  for  the 
moment. 

I  was  proud  of  my  new  lore,  and  thought  I  had  learned 
the  art  to  perfection.     And  certainly  Modestine  did  won- 

15  ders  for  the  rest  of  the  forenoon,  and  I  had  a  breathing 
space  to  look  about  me.  It  was  Sabbath;  the  mountain- 
fields  were  all  vacant  in  the  sunshine;  and  as  we  came 
down  through  St.  Martin  de  Frugeres,  the  church  was 
crowded  to  the  door,  there  wTre  people  kneeling  without 

20  upon  the  steps,  and  the  sound  of  the  priest's  chanting 
came  forth  out  of  the  dim  interior.  It  gave  me  a  home 
feeling  on  the  spot ;  for  I  am  a  countrj'man  of  the  Sabbath, 
so  to  speak,  and  all  Sabbath  observances,  like  a  Scotch 
accent,  strike  in  me  mixed  feelings,  grateful  and  the  re- 

25  verse.  It  is  only  a  traveler,  hurrying  by  like  a  person 
from  another  planet,  who  can  rightly  enjoy  the  peace  and 
beauty  of  the  great  ascetic  feast.  The  sight  of  the  resting 
country  does  his  spirit  good.  There  is  something  better 
than  music  in  the  wide  unusual  silence;  and  It  disposes 

30  him  to  amiable  thoughts,  like  the  sound  of  a  little  river  or 
the  warmth  of  sunlight. 

In  this  pleasant  humor  I  came  down  the  hill  to  where 
Goudet  stands  in  a  green  end  of  a  valley,  with  Chateau 
Beaufort  opposite  upon  a  rocky  steep,  and  the  stream,  as 


The  Green  Donkey-Driver  147 

clear  as  cr3'stal,  lying  In  a  deep  pool  between  them.  Above 
and  below,  you  may  hear  it  wimpling  over  the  stones,  an 
amiable  stripling  of  a  river,  which  it  seems  absurd  to  call 
the  Loire.  On  all  sides,  Goudet  is  shut  in  by  mountains; 
rocky  foot-paths,  practicable  at  best  for  donkeys,  join  it  5 
to  the  outer  world  of  France;  and  the  men  and  women 
drink  and  swear,  in  their  green  corner,  or  look  up  at  the 
snow-clad  peaks  in  winter  from  the  threshold  of  their 
homes,  in  an  isolation,  you  would  think,  like  that  of 
Homer's  Cyclops.  But  it  is  not  so;  the  postman  reaches  10 
Goudet  with  the  letter-bag;  the  aspiring  youth  of  Goudet 
are  within  a  day's  walk  of  the  railway  at  Le  Puy;  and 
here  in  the  inn  you  may  find  an  engraved  portrait  of  the 
host's  nephew,  Regis  Senac,  "  Professor  of  Fencing  and 
Champion  of  the  two  Americas,"  a  distinction  gained  by  15 
him,  along  with  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars,  at 
Tammany  Hall,  New  York,  on  the  lOth  April, 
1876. 

I  hurried  over  my  midday  meal,  and  was  early  forth 
again.  But,  alas,  as  we  climbed  the  interminable  hill  20 
upon  the  other  side,  "Proot!"  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
virtue.  I  prooted  like  a  lion,  I  prooted  mellifluously 
like  a  sucking-dove;  but  Modestine  would  be  neither 
softened  nor  intimidated.  She  held  doggedly  to  her  pace; 
nothing  but  a  blow  would  move  her,  and  that  only  for  a  25 
second.  I  must  follow  at  her  heels,  incessantly  belabor- 
ing. A  moment's  pause  in  this  ignoble  toil,  and  she 
relapsed  into  her  own  private  gait.  I  think  I  never  heard 
of  any  one  in  as  mean  a  situation.  I  must  reach  the  lake 
of  Bouchet,  where  I  meant  to  camp,  before  sundown,  and,  30 
to  have  even  a  hope  of  this,  I  must  instantly  maltreat  this 
uncomplaining  animal.  The  sound  of  my  own  blows 
sickened  me.  Once,  when  I  looked  at  her,  she  had  a  faint 
resemblance  to  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance  who  formerly^ 


148  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

loaded  me  with  kindness ;  and  this  increased  my  horror 
of  my  cruelty. 

To  make  matters  worse,  we  encountered  another  don- 
key, ranging  at  will  upon  the  roadside;  and  this  donkey 
5  chanced  to  be  a  gentleman.  He  and  Modestine  met 
nickering  for  joy,  and  I  had  to  separate  the  pair  and  beat 
down  their  young  romance  with  a  renewed  and  feverish 
bastinado.  If  the  other  donkey  had  had  the  heart  of  a 
male  under  his  hide,  he  would  have  fallen  upon  me  tooth 

10  and  hoof ;  and  this  was  a  kind  of  consolation — he  was 
plainly  unworthy  of  Modestine's  affection.  But  the  in- 
cident saddened  me,  as  did  everything  that  spoke  of  my 
donkey's  sex. 

It  was  blazing  hot  up  the  valley,  windless,  with  vehe- 

15  ment  sun  upon  my  shoulders ;  and  I  had  to  labor  so 
consistently  with  my  stick  that  the  sweat  ran  into  my  eyes. 
Every  five  minutes,  too,  the  pack,  the  basket,  and  the 
pilot-coat  would  take  an  ugly  slew  to  one  side  or  the 
other;  and   I   had   to  stop  Modestine ,  just  when   I  had 

20  got  her  to  a  tolerable  pace  of  about  two  miles  an  hour, 
to  tug,  push,  shoulder,  and  readjust  the  load.  And  at 
last,  in  the  village  of  Ussel,  saddle  and  all,  the  whole 
hypothec  turned  round  and  groveled  in  the  dust  below  the 
donkey's  belly.      She,   none   better   pleased,   incontinently 

25  drew  up  and  seemed  to  smile ;  and  a  party  of  one  man, 

two  women,   and   two   children   came  up,   and,   standing 

round  me  in  a  half-circle,  encouraged  her  by  their  example. 

I  had  the  devil's  own  trouble  to  get  the  thing  righted ; 

and  the  instant  I  had  done  so,  without  hesitation,  it  top- 

30  pled  and  fell  down  upon  the  other  side.  Judge  if  I  was 
hot!  And  yet  not  a  hand  was  offered  to  assist  me.  The 
man,  indeed,  told  me  I  ought  to  have  a  package  of  a 
different  shape.  I  suggested,  if  he  knew  nothing  better 
to  the  point  in  my  predicament,  he  might  hold  his  tongue, 


The  Green  Donkey-Driver  149 

And  the  good-natured  dog  agreed  with  me  smilingly. 
It  was  the  most  despicable  fix.  I  must  plainly  content 
myself  with  the  pack  for  Modestine,  and  take  the  follow- 
ing items  for  my  own  share  of  the  portage:  a  cane,  a 
quart  flask,  a  pilot-jacket  heavily  weighted  in  the  pockets,  s 
two  pounds  of  black  bread,  and  an  open  basket  full  of 
meats  and  bottles.  I  believe  I  may  say  I  am  not  devoid  of 
greatness  of  soul ;  for  I  did  not  recoil  from  this  infamous 
burden.  I  disposed  it,  Heaven  knows  how,  so  as  to  be 
mildly  portable,  and  then  proceeded  to  steer  Modestine  10 
through  the  village.  She  tried,  as  was  indeed  her  in- 
variable habit,  to  enter  every  house  and  every  courtyard 
in  the  whole  length;  and,  encumbered  as  I  was,  without 
a  hand  to  help  myself,  no  words  can  render  an  idea  of  my 
difficulties.  A  priest,  with  six  or  seven  others,  was  exam-  15 
ining  a  church  in  process  of  repair,  and  he  and  his  acolytes 
laughed  loudly  as  they  saw  my  plight.  I  remembered 
having  laughed  myself  when  I  had  seen  good  men  strug- 
gling with  adversity  in  the  person  of  a  jackass,  and  the 
recollection  filled  me  with  penitence.  That  was  in  my  20 
old  light  days,  before  this  trouble  came  upon  me.  God 
knows  at  least  that  I  shall  never  laugh  again,  thought  I. 
But  O,  what  a  cruel  thing  is  a  farce  to  those  engaged  in  it ! 
A  little  out  of  the  village,  Modestine,  filled  with  the 
demon,  set  her  heart  upon  a  by-road,  and  positively  re-  25 
fused  to  leave  it.  I  dropped  all  my  bundles,  and,  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  struck  the  poor  sinner  twice  across  the 
face.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  her  lift  up  her  head  with  shut 
eyes,  as  if  waiting  for  another  blow.  I  came  very  near 
crying;  but  I  did  a  wiser  thing  than  that,  and  sat  squarely  30 
down  by  the  roadside  to  consider  my  situation  under  the 
cheerful  influence  of  tobacco  and  a  nip  of  brandy.  Modes- 
tine, in  the  meanwhile,  munched  some  black  bread  with  a 
contrite  hypocritical  air.     It  was  plain  that  I  must  make 


150  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

a  sacrifice  to  the  gods  of  shipwreck.  I  threw  away  the 
empty  bottle  destined  to  carry  milk ;  I  threw  away  my 
own  white  bread,  and,  disdaining  to  act  by  general  aver- 
age, kept  the  black  bread  for  Modestine;  lastly,  I  threw 
5  away  the  cold  leg  of  mutton  and  the  egg-whisk,  although 
this  last  was  dear  to  my  heart.  Thus  I  found  room  for 
everything  in  the  basket,  and  even  stowed  the  boating-coat 
on  the  top.  By  means  of  an  end  of  cord  I  slung  it  under 
one  arm;  and  although  the  cord  cut  my  shoulder,  and  the 

10  jacket  hung  almost  to  the  ground,  it  was  with  a  heart 
greatly  lightened  that  I  set  forth  again. 

I  had  now  an  arm  free  to  thrash  Modestine,  and  cruelly 
I  chastised  her.  If  I  were  to  reach  the  lakeside  before 
dark,  she  must  bestir  her  little  shanks  to  some  tune.     Al- 

15  ready  the  sun  had  gone  down  into  a  windy-looking  mist ; 
and  although  there  were  still  a  few  streaks  of  gold  far 
off  to  the  east  on  the  hills  and  the  black  fir-woods,  all 
was  cold  and  gray  about  our  onward  path.  An  infinity  of 
little  country  by-roads  led  hither  and  thither  among  the 

20  fields.  It  was  the  most  pointless  labyrinth.  I  could  see 
my  destination  overhead,  or  rather  the  peak  that  domi- 
nates it;  but  choose  as  I  pleased,  the  roads  always  ended 
by  turning  away  from  it,  and  sneaking  back  towards  the 
valley,  or  northward  along  the  margin  of  the  hills.     The 

25  failing  light,  the  waning  color,  the  naked,  unhomely,  stony 
country  through  which  I  was  traveling,  threw  me  into 
some  despondency.  I  promise  you,  the  stick  was  not  idle ; 
I  think  every  decent  step  that  Modestine  took  must  have 
cost  me  at  least  two  emphatic   blows.     There  was  not 

30  another  sound  in  the  neighborhood  but  that  of  my  un- 
wearying bastinado. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  my  toils,  the  load  once  more 
bit  the  dust,  and,  as  by  enchantment,  all  the  cords  were 
simultaneously  loosened,  and  the  road  scattered  with  my 


The  Green  Donkey-Driver  151 

dear  possessions.  The  packing  was  to  begin  again  from 
the  beginning;  and  as  I  had  to  invent  a  new  and  better 
system,  I  do  not  doubt  but  I  lost  half  an  hour.  It  began 
to  be  dusk  in  earnest  as  I  reached  a  wilderness  of  turf 
and  stones.  It  had  the  air  of  being  a  road  which  should  5 
lead  everywhere  at  the  same  time;  and  I  was  falling  into 
something  not  unlike  despair  when  I  saw  two  figures 
stalking  towards  me  over  the  stones.  They  walked  one 
behind  the  other  like  tramps,  but  their  pace  was  re- 
markable. The  son  led  the  way,  a  tall,  ill-made,  somber,  10 
Scotch-looking  man;  the  mother  followed,  all  in  her 
Sunday's  best,  with  an  elegantly  embroidered  ribbon  to  her 
cap,  and  a  new  felt  hat  atop,  and  proffering,  as  she  strode 
along  with  kilted  petticoats,  a  string  of  obscene  and  blas- 
phemous oaths.  15 

I  hailed  the  son  and  asked  him  my  direction.  He 
pointed  loosely  west  and  northwest,  muttered  an  in- 
audible comment,  and,  without  slacking  his  pace  for  an 
instant,  stalked  on,  as  he  was  going,  right  athwart  my 
path.  The  mother  followed  without  so  much  as  raising  20 
her  head.  I  shouted  and  shouted  after  them,  but  they 
continued  to  scale  the  hillside,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
my  outcries.  At  last,  leaving  Modestine  by  herself,  I  was 
constrained  to  run  after  them,  hailing  the  while.  They 
stopped  as  I  drew  near,  the  mother  still  cursing;  and  I  25 
could  see  she  was  a  handsome,  motherly,  respectable- 
looking  woman.  The  son  once  more  answered  me  roughly 
and  inaudibly,  and  was  for  setting  out  again.  But  this 
time  I  simply  collared  the  mother,  who  was  nearest  me, 
and,  apologizing  for  my  violence,  declared  that  I  could  30 
not  let  them  go  until  they  had  put  me  on  my  road.  They 
were  neither  of  them  offended — rather  mollified  than 
otherwise;  told  me  I  had  only  to  follow  them;  and  then 
the  mother  asked  me  what  I  wanted  by  the  lake  at  such 


152  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

an  hour.  I  replied,  in  the  Scotch  manner,  by  inquiring  if 
she  had  far  to  go  herself.  She  told  me,  with  another 
oath,  that  she  had  an  hour  and  a  half's  road  before  her. 
And  then,  without  salutation,  the  pair  strode  forward 
5  again   up   the   hillside   in    the   gathering  dusk. 

I  returned  for  Modestitie,  pushed  her  briskly  forward, 
and,  after  a  sharp  ascent  of  twenty  minutes,  reached  the 
edge  of  a  plateau.  The  view,  looking  back  on  my  day's 
journey,  was  both  wild  and  sad.     Mount  Mezenc  and  the 

10  peaks  beyond  St.  Julien  stood  out  in  trenchant  gloom 
against  a  cold  glitter  in  the  east ;  and  the  intervening 
field  of  hills  had  fallen  together  into  one  broad  wash  of 
shadow,  except  here  and  there  the  outline  of  a  wooded 
sugar-loaf  in  black,  here  and  there  a  white  irregular  patch 

15  to  represent  a  cultivated  farm,  and  here  and  there  a  blot 
where  the  Loire,  the  Gazeille,  or  the  Laussonne  wandered 
in  a  gorge. 

Soon  we  were  on  a  high-road,  and  surprise  seized  on 
my  mind  as  I  beheld  a  village  of  some  magnitude  close 

20  at  hand ;  for  I  had  been  told  that  the  neighborhood  of 
the  lake  was  uninhabited  except  by  trout.  The  road 
smoked  in  the  twilight  with  children  driving  home  cattle 
from  the  fields;  and  a  pair  of  mounted  stride-legged 
women,  hat  and  cap  and  all,  dashed  past  me  at  a  ham- 

25  mering  trot  from  the  canton  where  they  had  been  to 
church  and  market.  I  asked  one  of  the  children  where  I 
was.  At  Bouchet  St.  Nicolas,  he  told  me.  Thither,  about 
a  mile  south  of  my  destination,  and  on  the  other  side 
of  a  respectable  summit,   had   these  confused   roads  and 

30  treacherous  peasantry  conducted  me.  My  shoulder  was 
cut,  so  that  it  hurt  sharply;  my  arm  ached  like  tooth- 
ache from  perpetual  beating;  I  gave  up  the  lake  and  my 
design  to  camp,  and  asked  for  the  auberge. 


CHAPTER  III 


I    HAVE   A    GOAD 


The  auberge  of  Bouchet  St.  Nicolas  was  among  the 
least  pretentious  I  have  ever  visited ;  but  I  saw  many 
more  of  the  like  upon  my  journey.  Indeed,  it  was  typical 
of  these  French  highlands.  Imagine  a  cottage  of  two 
stories,  with  a  bench  before  the  door ;  the  stable  and  5 
kitchen  in  a  suite,  so  that  Modestine  and  I  could  hear 
each  other  dining;  furniture  of  the  plainest,  earthen  floors, 
a  single  bedchamber  for  travelers,  and  that  without  any 
convenience  but  beds.  In  the  kitchen  cooking  and  eating 
go  forward  side  by  side,  and  the  family  sleep  at  night.  10 
Any  one  who  has  a  fancy  to  wash  must  do  so  in  public  at 
the  common  table.  The  food  is  sometimes  spare;  hard 
fish  and  omelet  have  been  my  portion  more  than  once; 
the  wine  is  of  the  smallest;  the  brandy  abominable  to 
man ;  and  the  visit  of  a  fat  sow,  grouting  under  the  table  15 
and  rubbing  against  your  legs,  is  no  impossible  accompani- 
ment to  dinner. 

But  the  people  of  the  inn.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
show  themselves  friendly  and  considerate.  As  soon  as 
you  cross  the  doors  you  cease  to  be  a  stranger ;  and  al-  20 
though  these  peasantry  are  rude  and  forbidding  on  the 
highway,  they  show  a  tincture  of  kind  breeding  when  you 
share  their  hearth.  At  Bouchet,  for  instance,  I  uncorked 
my  bottle  of  Beaujolais,  and  asked  my  host  to  join  me. 
He  would  take  but  little.  25 

"  I  am  an  amateur  of  such  wine,  do  you  see?"  he  said, 
"  and  I  am  capable  of  leaving  you  not  enough." 

153 


154  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

In  these  hedge-inns  the  traveler  is  expected  to  eat  with 
his  own  knife ;  unless  he  ask,  no  other  will  be  supplied : 
with  a  glass,  a  whang  of  bread,  and  an  iron  fork,  the  table 
is  completely  laid.  Mj'  knife  was  cordially  admired  by 
5  the  landlord  of  Bouchet,  and  the  spring  filled  him  with 
wonder. 

"  I  should  never  have  guessed  that,"  he  said.    "  I  would 
bet,"  he  added,  weighing  it  in  his  hand,  "  that  this  cost 
you  not  less  than  five  francs." 
10      When    I    told   him    it    had    cost   me   twenty,    his   jaw 
dropped. 

He  was  a  mild,  handsome,  sensible,  friendly  old  man, 
astonishingly  ignorant.  His  wife,  who  was  not  so  pleas- 
ant in  her  manners,  knew  how  to  read,  although  I  do  not 
15  suppose  she  ever  did  so.  She  had  a  share  of  brains  and 
spoke  with  a  cutting  emphasis,  like  one  who  ruled  the 
roast. 

*'  My  man  knows  nothing,"  she  said,  with  an  angry 
nod ;  "  he  is  like  the  beasts." 
20  And  the  old  gentleman  signified  acquiescence  with  his 
head.  There  was  no  contempt  on  her  part,  and  no  shame 
on  his;  the  facts  were  accepted  loyally,  and  no  more 
about  the  matter. 

I  was  tightly  cross-examined  about  my  journey;  and 
25  the  lady  understood  in  a  moment,  and  sketched  out  what 
I  should  put  into  my  book  when  I  got  home.  "  Whether 
people  harvest  or  not  in  such  or  such  a  place;  if  there 
were  forests;  studies  of  manners;  what,  for  example,  I 
and  the  master  of  the  house  say  to  you;  the  beauties  of 
30  Nature,  and  all  that."  And  she  interrogated  me  with  a 
look. 

"  It  is  just  that,"  said  I. 

"  You  see,"  she  added  to  her  husband,  "  I  understood 
that." 


I  Have  a  Goad  155] 

They  were  both  much  interested  by  the  story  of  my 
misadventures. 

"  In  the  morning,"  said  the  husband,  "  I  will  make  you 
something  better  than  your  cane.     Such  a  beast  as  that 
feels  nothing;  it  is  in  the  proverb — dur  comme  un  ane;  5 
you  might  beat  her  insensible  with  a  cudgel,  and  yet  you 
would  arrive  nowhere." 

Something    better!      I     little     knew    what     he    was 
offering. 

The  sleeping-room  was   furnished   with   two  beds.      I  10 
had  one;  and  I  will  own  I  was  a  little  abashed  to  find  a 
young  man  and  his  wife  and  child  in  the  act  of  mounting 
into  the  other.    This  was  my  first  experience  of  the  sort; 
and  if  I  am  always  to  feel  equally  silly  and  extraneous,  I 
pray  God  it  be  my  last  as  well.     I  kept  my  eyes  to  myself,  15 
and   know   nothing  of   the   woman   except   that   she   had 
beautiful  arms,  and  seemed  no  whit  embarrassed  by  my 
appearance.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  situation  was  more 
trying  to  me  than  to  the  pair.     A  pair  keep  each  other  in 
countenance ;  it  is  the  single  gentleman  who  has  to  blush.  20 
But   I   could  not  help  attributing  my  sentiments  to  the 
husband,   and   sought   to  conciliate   his  tolerance  with  a 
cup  of  brandy  from  my  flask.     He  told  me  that  he  was  a 
cooper   of   Alais   traveling   to    St.    Etienne    in    search    of 
work,  and  that  in  his  spare  moments  he  followed  the  fatal  25 
calling  of  a  maker  of  matches.      Me  he  readily  enough 
divined  to  be  a  brandy  merchant. 

I  was  up  first  in  the  morning  (Monday,  September  23d), 
and  hastened  my  toilet  guiltily,  so  as  to  leave  a  clear 
field  for  madam,  the  cooper's  wife.  I  drank  a  bowl  of  30 
milk,  and  set  off  to  explore  the  neighborhood  of  Bouchet. 
It  was  perishing  cold,  a  gray,  windy,  wintry  morning; 
misty  clouds  flew  fast  and  low;  the  wind  piped  over  the 
naked  platform;  and  the  only  speck  of  color  was  away 


156  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

behind  Mount  Mezenc  and  the  eastern  hills,  where  the 
sky  still  wore  the  orange  of  the  dawn. 

It  was  five  in  the  morning,  and  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea;  and  I  had  to  bury  my  hands  in  my  pockets  and 

5  trot.  People  were  trooping  out  to  the  labors  of  the  field 
by  twos  and  threes,  and  all  turned  round  to  stare  upon  the 
stranger.  I  had  seen  them  coming  back  last  night,  I  saw 
them  going  afield  again;  and  there  was  the  life  of  Bouchet 
in  a  nutshell. 

10  When  I  came  back  to  the  inn  for  a  bit  of  breakfast, 
the  landlady  was  in  the  kitchen  combing  out  her  daugh- 
ter's hair;  and  I  made  her  my  compliments  upon  its 
beauty. 

"O  no,"  said  the  mother;  "it  is  not  so  beautiful  as  it 

15  ought  to  be.     Look,  it  is  too  fine." 

Thus  does  a  wise  peasantry  console  itself  under  adverse 
physical  circumstances,  and,  by  a  startling  democratic 
process,  the  defects  of  the  majority  decide  the  type  of 
beauty. 

20      "And  where,"  said  I,  "is  monsieur?" 

"  The  master  of  the  house  is  up-stairs,"  she  answered, 
"making  you  a  goad." 

Blessed  be  the  man  who  invented  goads!  Blessed  the 
innkeeper  of  Bouchet  St.  Nicolas,  who  introduced  me  to 

25  their  use!  This  plain  wand,  with  an  eighth  of  an  inch  of 
pin,  was  indeed  a  scepter  when  he  put  it  in  my  hands. 
Thenceforward  Modestine  was  my  slave.  A  prick,  and 
she  passed  the  most  inviting  stable-door.  A  prick,  and 
she  broke  forth  into  a  gallant  little  trotlet  that  devoured 

30  the  miles.  It  was  not  a  remarkable  speed,  when  all  was 
said;  and  we  took  four  hours  to  cover  ten  miles  at  the 
best  of  it.  But  what  a  heavenly  change  since  yesterday! 
No  more  wielding  of  the  ugly  cudgel ;  no  more  flailing 
with  an  aching  arm;  no  more  broad-sword  exercise,  but  a 


I  Have  a  Goad  157 

discreet  and  gentlemanly  fence.  And  what  although  now 
and  then  a  drop  of  blood  should  appear  on  Modestine's 
mouse-colored  wedge-like  rump?  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred it  otherwise,  indeed ;  but  yesterday's  exploits  had 
purged  my  heart  of  all  humanity.  The  perverse  little  5 
devil,  since  she  would  not  be  taken  with  kindness,  must 
even  go  with  pricking. 

It  vv^as  bleak  and  bitter  cold,  and,  except  a  cavalcade  of 
stride-legged  ladies  and  a  pair  of  post-runners,  the  road 
was  dead  solitary  all  the  way  to  Pradelles.  I  scarce  re-  10 
member  an  incident  but  one.  A  handsome  foal  with  a 
bell  about  his  neck  came  charging  up  to  us  upon  a  stretch 
of  common,  sniffed  the  air  martially  as  one  about  to  do 
great  deeds,  and,  suddenly  thinking  otherwise  in  his  green 
young  heart,  put  about  and  galloped  off  as  he  had  come,  15 
the  bell  tinkling  in  the  wind.  For  a  long  while  after- 
wards I  saw  his  noble  attitude  as  he  drew  up,  and  heard 
the  note  of  his  bell ;  and  when  I  struck  the  high-road,  the 
song  of  the  telegraph-wires  seemed  to  continue  the  same 
music.  20 

Pradelles  stands  on  a  hillside,  high  above  the  Allier, 
surrounded  by  rich  meadows.  They  were  cutting  after- 
math on  all  sides,  which  gave  the  neighborhood,  this 
gusty  autumn  morning,  an  untimely  smell  of  hay.  On  the 
opposite  bank  of  the  Allier  the  land  kept  mounting  for  25 
miles  to  the  horizon ;  a  tanned  and  sallow  autumn  land- 
scape, with  black  blots  of  fir-wood  and  white  roads  wan- 
dering through  the  hills.  Over  all  this  the  clouds  shed 
a  uniform  and  purplish  shadow,  sad  and  somewhat  menac- 
ing, exaggerating  height  and  distance,  and  throwing  into  30 
still  higher  relief  the  twisted  ribbons  of  the  highway.  It 
was  a  cheerless  prospect,  but  one  stimulating  to  a  traveler. 
For  I  w-as  now  upon  the  limit  of  Velay,  and  all  that  I 
beheld   lay  in   another  country — wild   Gcvaudan,  moun- 


158  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

tainous,   uncultivated,  and  but  recently   disforested   from 
terror  of  the  wolves. 

Wolves,  alas,  like  bandits,  seem  to  flee  the   traveler's 
advance;  and  you  may  trudge  through  all  our  comfort- 

5  able  Europe,  and  not  meet  with  an  adventure  worth  the 
name.  But  here,  if  anywhere,  a  man  was  on  the  frontiers 
of  hope.  For  this  was  the  land  of  the  ever-memorable 
Beast,  the  Napoleon  Buonaparte  of  wolves.  What  a 
career  was  his!     He  lived  ten  months  at  free  quarters  in 

10  Gevaudan  and  Vivarais;  he  ate  women  and  children  and 
"shepherdesses  celebrated  for  their  beauty;"  he  pursued 
armed  horsemen ;  he  has  been  seen  at  broad  noonday  chas- 
ing a  postchaise  and  outrider  along  the  king's  high-road, 
and  chaise  and  outrider  fleeing  before  him  at  the  gallop. 

15  He  was  placarded  like  a  political  offender,  and  ten  thou- 
sand francs  were  offered  for  his  head.  And  yet,  when  he 
was  shot  and  sent  to  Versailles,  behold !  a  common  wolf, 
and  even  small  for  that.  "  Though  I  could  reach  from 
pole  to  pole,"  sang  Alexander  Pope;  the  Little  Corporal 

20  shook  Europe ;  and  if  all  wolves  had  been  as  this  wolf, 
they  would  have  changed  the  history  of  man.  M.  Elie 
Berthet  has  made  him  the  hero  of  a  novel,  which  I  have 
read,  and  do  not  wish  to  read  again. 

I   hurried  over  my  lunch,  and  was  proof  against  the 

25  landlady's  desire  that  I  should  visit  our  Lady  of  Pradelles, 
"  who  performed  many  miracles,  although  she  was  of 
wood ;"  and  before  three-quarters  of  an  hour  I  was  goad- 
ing Modestine  down  the  steep  descent  that  leads  to 
Langogne  on  the  Allier.     On  both  sides  of  the  road,  in 

30  big  dusty  fields,  farmers  were  preparing  for  next  Spring. 
Every  fifty  yards  a  yoke  of  great-necked  stolid  oxen  were 
patiently  haling  at  the  plow.  I  saw  one  of  these  mild 
formidable  servants  of  the  glebe,  who  took  a  sudden  inter- 
est in  Modestine  and  me.    The  furrow  down  which  he  was 


I  Have  a  Goad  159 

journeying  lay  at  an  angle  to  the  road,  and  his  head  was 
solidly  fixed  to  the  yoke  like  those  of  caryatides  below 
a  ponderous  cornice;  but  he  screwed  round  his  big  honest 
eyes  and  followed  us  with  a  ruminating  look,  until  his 
master  bade  him  turn  the  plow  and  proceed  to  reascend  5 
the  field.  From  all  these  furrowing  plowshares,  from 
the  feet  of  oxen,  from  a  laborer  here  and  there  who  was 
breaking  the  dry  clods  with  a  hoe,  the  wind  carried  away 
a  thin  dust  like  so  much  smoke.  It  was  a  fine,  busy, 
breathing,  rustic  landscape ;  and  as  I  continued  to  descend,  10 
the  highlands  of  Gevaudan  kept  mounting  in  front  of  me 
against  the  sky. 

I  had  crossed  the  Loire  the  day  before ;  now  I  was  to 
cross  the  AUier;  so  near  are  these  two  confluents  in  their 
youth.  Just  at  the  bridge  of  Langogne,  as  the  long-prom-  15 
ised  rain  was  beginning  to  fall,  a  lassie  of  some  seven  or 
eight  addressed  me  in  the  sacramental  phrase,  "  D'ou'st 
que  vous  venez? "  She  said  it  with  so  high  an  air  that 
she  set  me  laughing;  and  this  cut  her  to  the  quick.  She 
was  evidently  one  who  reckoned  on  respect,  and  stood  20 
looking  after  me  in  silent  dudgeon,  as  I  crossed  the  bridge 
and  entered  the  county  of  Gevaudan. 


UPPER  GEVAUDAN 

"The  way  also  here  was  very  wearisome  through  dirt  and 
slabbiness  ;  nor  was  there  on  all  this  ground  so  much  as  one 
inn  or  victualing-house  wherein  to  refresh  the  feebler 
sort."— Pilgrim's  Progress. 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  CAMP  IN  THE  DARK 


The  next  day  (Tuesday,  September  24th),  it  was  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  I  got  my  journal  written 
up  and  my  knapsack  repaired,  for  I  was  determined  to 
carry  my  knapsack  in  the  future  and  have  no  more  ado 
with  baskets;  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  I  set  out  for  5 
Le  Cheylard  I'Eveque,  a  place  on  the  borders  of  the  forest 
of  Mercoire.  A  man,  I  was  told,  should  walk  there  in  an 
hour  and  a  half;  and  I  thought  it  scarce  too  ambitious  to 
suppose  that  a  man  encumbered  with  a  donkey  might 
cover  the  same  distance  in  four  hours.  10 

All  the  way  up  the  long  hill  from  Langogne  it  rained 
and  hailed  alternately;  the  wind  kept  freshening  stead- 
ily, although  slowly;  plentiful  hurrying  clouds — some 
dragging  veils  of  straight  rain-shower,  others  massed  and 
luminous  as  though  promising  snow — careered  out  of  15 
the  north  and  followed  me  along  my  way.  I  was  soon 
out  of  the  cultivated  basin  of  the  Allier,  and  away  from 
the  plowing  oxen,  and  such-like  sights  of  the  country. 
Moor,  heathery  marsh,  tracts  of  rock  and  pines,  woods  of 
birch  all  jeweled  with  the  autumn  yellow,  here  and  there  20 
a  few  naked  cottages  and  bleak  fields, — these  were  the 
characters  of  the  country.  Hill  and  valley  followed  valley 
and  hill ;  the  little  green  and  stony  cattle-tracks  wandered 
in  and  out  of  one  another,  split  into  three  or  four,  died 
away  in  marshy  hollows,  and  began  again  sporadically  on  25 
hillsides  or  at  the  borders  of  a  wood. 

163 


164  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

There  was  no  direct  road  to  Cheylard,  and  it  was  no 
easy  affair  to  make  a  passage  in  this  uneven  country  and 
through  this  intermittent  labyrinth  of  tracks.  It  must 
have  been  about  four  when  I  struck  Sagnerousse,  and 
5  went  on  my  way  rejoicing  in  a  sure  point  of  departure. 
Two  hours  afterwards,  the  dusk  rapidly  falling,  in  a  lull 
of  the  wind,  I  issued  from  a  fir-wood  where  I  had  long 
been  wandering,  and  found,  not  the  looked-for  village, 
but  another  marish  bottom  among  rough-and-tumble  hills. 

10  For  some  time  past  I  had  heard  the  ringing  of  cattle-bells 
ahead ;  and  now,  as  I  came  out  of  the  skirts  of  the  wood, 
I  saw  near  upon  a  dozen  cows  and  perhaps  as  many  more 
black  figures,  which  I  conjectured  to  be  children,  although 
the    mist    had    almost    unrecognizably    exaggerated    their 

15  forms.  These  were  all  silently  following  each  other  round 
and  round  in  a  circle,  now  taking  hands,  now  breaking 
up  with  chains  and  reverences.  A  dance  of  children  ap- 
peals to  very  innocent  and  lively  thoughts ;  but,  at  night- 
fall on  the  marshes,  the  thing  was  eerie  and  fantastic  to 

20  behold.  Even  I,  who  am  well  enough  read  in  Herbert 
Spencer,  felt  a  sort  of  silence  fall  for  an  instant  on 
my  mind.  The  next,  I  was  pricking  Modestine  forward, 
and  guiding  her  like  an  unruly  ship  through  the  open.  In 
a  path,  she  went  doggedly  ahead  of  her  own  accord,  as  be- 

25  fore  a  fair  wind ;  but  once  on  the  turf  or  among  heather, 
and  the  brute  became  demented.  The  tendency  of  lost 
travelers  to  go  round  in  a  circle  was  developed  in  her  to 
the  degree  of  passion,  and  it  took  all  the  steering  I  had  in 
me  to   keep  even   a  decently  straight   course   through   a 

30  single  field. 

While  I  was  thus  desperately  tacking  through  the  bog, 
children  and  cattle  began  to  disperse,  until  only  a  pair  of 
girls  remained  behind.  From  these  I  sought  direction  on 
vay  path.     The  peasantry  in  general  were  but  little  dis- 


A  Camp  In  the  Dark  i6^ 

posed  to  counsel  a  wayfarer.  One  old  devil  simply  re- 
tired into  his  house,  and  barricaded  the  door  on  my 
approach;  and  I  might  beat  and  shout  myself  hoarse,  he 
turned  a  deaf  ear.  Another,  having  given  me  a  direction 
which,  as  I  found  afterwards,  I  had  misunderstood,  com-  5 
placently  watched  me  going  wrong  without  adding  a  sign. 
He  did  not  care  a  stalk  of  parsley  if  I  wandered  all  night 
upon  the  hills!  As  for  these  two  girls,  they  were  a  pair 
of  impudent  sly  sluts,  with  not  a  thought  but  mischief. 
One  put  out  her  tongue  at  me,  the  other  bade  me  follow  10 
the  cows;  and  they  both  giggled  and  jogged  each  other's 
elbows.  The  Beast  of  Gevaudan  ate  about  a  hundred 
children  of  this  district;  I  began  to  think  of  him  with 
sympathy. 

Leaving  the  girls,  I  pushed  on  through  the  bog,  and  got  15 
into  another  wood  and  upon  a  well-marked  road.  It  grew 
darker  and  darker.  Modestine,  suddenly  beginning  to 
smell  mischief,  bettered  the  pace  of  her  own  accord, 
and  from  that  time  forward  gave  me  no  trouble.  It  was 
the  first  sign  of  intelligence  I  had  occasion  to  remark  in  20 
her.  At  the  same  time,  the  wind  freshened  into  half  a 
gale,  and  another  heavy  discharge  of  rain  came  flying 
up  out  of  the  north.  At  the  other  side  of  the  wood  I 
sighted  some  red  windows  in  the  dusk.  This  was  the 
hamlet  of  Fouzilhic;  three  houses  on  a  hillside,  near  a  25 
wood  of  birches.  Here  I  found  a  delightful  old  man,  who 
came  a  little  way  with  me  in  the  rain  to  put  me  safely 
on  the  road  for  Cheylard.  He  would  hear  of  no  reward; 
but  shook  his  hands  above  his  head  almost  as  if  in  menace, 
and  refused  volubly  and  shrilly,  in  unmitigated  patois.       30 

All  seemed  right  at  last.  My  thoughts  began  to  turn 
upon  dinner  and  a  fireside,  and  my  heart  was  agreeably 
softened  in  my  bosom.  Alas,  and  I  was  on  the  brink  of 
new  and  greater  miseries!     Suddenly,  at  a  single  swoop, 


1 66  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

the  night  fell.  I  have  been  abroad  in  many  a  black  night, 
but  never  in  a  blacker.  A  glimmer  of  rocks,  a  glimmer  of 
the  track  where  it  was  well  beaten,  a  certain  fleecy  density, 
or  night  within  night,  for  a  tree, — this  was  all  that  I 
5  could  discriminate.  The  sky  was  simply  darkness  over- 
head ;  even  the  flying  clouds  pursued  their  way  invisibly 
to  human  eyesight.  I  could  not  distinguish  my  hand  at 
arm's  length  from  the  track,  nor  my  goad,  at  the  same  dis- 
tance, from  the  meadows  or  the  sky. 

10  Soon  the  road  that  I  was  following  split,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  country,  into  three  or  four  in  a  piece  of 
rocky  meadow.  Since  Modestine  had  shown  such  a  fancy 
for  beaten  roads,  I  tried  her  instinct  in  this  predicament. 
But  the  instinct  of  an  ass  is  what  might  be  expected  from 

15  the  name ;  in  half  a  minute  she  was  clambering  round  and 
round  among  some  boulders,  as  lost  a  donkey  as  you  would 
wish  to  see.  I  should  have  camped  long  before  had  I 
been  properly  provided ;  but  as  this  w^as  to  be  so  short  a 
stage,  I  had  brought  no  wine,  no  bread  for  myself,  and 

20  little  over  a  pound  for  my  lady-friend.  Add  to  this,  that 
I  and  Modestine  were  both  handsomely  wetted  by  the 
showers.  But  now,  if  I  could  have  found  some  water,  I 
should  have  camped  at  once  in  spite  of  all.  Water,  how- 
ever, being  entirely  absent,  except  in  the  form  of  rain,  I 

25  determined  to  return  to  Fouzilhic,  and  ask  a  guide  a  little 
further  on  my  way — "  a  little  farther  lend  thv  guiding 
hand." 

The  thing  was  easy  to  decide,  hard  to  accomplish.     In 
this  sensible  roaring  blackness  I  was  sure  of  nothing  but 

30  the  direction  of  the  wind.  To  this  I  set  my  face ;  the 
road  had  disappeared,  and  I  went  across  country,  now  in 
marshy  opens,  now  baflled  by  walls  unscalable  to  Modes- 
tine, until  I  came  once  more  in  sight  of  some  red  windows. 
This  time  they  were  differently  disposed.    It  was  not  Fou- 


A  Camp  in  the  Dark  167 

zilhic,  but  Fouzilhac,  a  hamlet  little  distant  from  the  other 
in  space,  but  worlds  away  in  the  spirit  of  its  inhabitants. 
I  tied  Modestine  to  a  gate,  and  groped  forward,  stumbling 
among  rocks,  plunging  mid-leg  in  bog,  until  I  gained  the 
entrance  of  the  village.  In  the  first  lighted  house  there  5 
was  a  woman  who  would  not  open  to  me.  She  could  do 
nothing,  she  cried  to  me  through  the  door,  being  alone 
and  lame;  but  if  I  would  apply  at  the  next  house,  there 
was  a  man  who  could  help  me  if  he  had  a  mind. 

They  came  to  the  next  door  in  force,  a  man,  two  10 
women,  and  a  girl,  and  brought  a  pair  of  lanterns  to 
examine  the  wayfarer.  The  man  was  not  ill-looking,  but 
had  a  shifty  smile.  He  leaned  against  the  door-post,  and 
heard  me  state  my  case.  All  I  asked  was  a  guide  as  far 
as  Cheylard.  15 

"  C'est  que,  voyez-vous,  il  fait  notr,"  said  he. 

I  told  him  that  was  just  my  reason  for  requiring  help. 

"I  understand  that,"  said  he,  looking  uncomfortable; 
"  7nms — c'est — de  la  peine." 

I  was  willing  to  pay,  I  said.     He  shook  his  head.     I  20 
rose  as  high  as  ten  francs;  but  he  continued  to  shake  his 
head.     "  Name  your  own  price,  then,"  said  I. 

"  Ce  nest  pas  qa,"  he  said  at  length,  and  with  evident 
difficulty;  "but  I  am  not  going  to  cross  the  door — mais 
je  ne  sortirai  pas  de  la  porte."  25 

I  grew  a  little  warm,  and  asked  him  what  he  proposed 
that  I  should  do. 

"  Where  are  you  going  beyond  Cheylard  ? "  he  asked 
by  way  of  answer. 

"That  is  no  affair  of  yours,"  I  returned,  for  I  was  not  30 
going  to  indulge  his  bestial  curiosity;  "it  changes  noth- 
ing in  my  present  predicament." 

''  C'est  vrai,  qa,"  he  acknowledged,  with  a  laugh ;  "  oui, 
c'est   vrai.     Et   d'oii   venez-vousf" 


1 68  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

A  better  man  than  I  might  have  felt  nettled. 

"  O,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not  going  to  answer  any  of  your 

questions,  so  you  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  putting 

them.     I  am  late  enough  already;  I  want  help.     If  you 

5  will  not  guide  me  yourself,  at  least  help  me  to  find  some 

one  else  who  will." 

"  Hold  on,"  he  cried  suddenly.  "  Was  it  not  you  who 
passed  in  the  meadow  while  it  was  still  day?  " 

"  Yes,   yes,"   said   the  girl,   whom   I   had   not   hitherto 

10  recognized;  "it  was  monsieur;  I  told  him  to  follow  the 
>> 
cow. 

"  As  for  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a 
farceuse." 

"  And,"  added  the  man,  "  what  the  devil  have  you  done 
15  to  be  still  here?  " 

What  the  devil,  indeed !  But  there  I  was.  "  The  great 
thing,"  said  I,  "is  to  make  an  end  of  it;"  and  once  more 
proposed  that  he  should  help  me  to  find  a  guide. 

"  C'est  que"  he  said  again,  "  c'est  que — il  fait  noir." 
20      "Very  well,"  said  I;  "take  one  of  your  lanterns." 

"  No,"  he  cried,  drawing  a  thought  backward,  and 
again  intrenching  himself  behind  one  of  his  former 
phrases;  "I   will  not  cross  the   door." 

I  looked  at  him.     I  saw  unaffected  terror  struggling  on 

25  his  face  with  unaffected  shame ;  he  was  smiling  pitifully 

and    wetting    his    lip    with    his    tongue,    like    a    detected 

schoolboy.     I  drew  a  brief  picture  of  my  state,  and  asked 

him  what  I  was  to  do. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said ;  "  I  will  not  cross  the  door." 
30      Here  was  the  Beast  of  Gevaudan,  and  no  mistake. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  with  my  most  commanding  manners, 
"  you  are  a  coward." 

And  with  that  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  family  part\', 
who  hastened  to  retire  within  their  fortifications;  and  the 


A  Camp  in  the  Dark  169 

famous  door  was  closed  again,  but  not  till  I  had  overheard 
the  sound  of  laughter.  Filia  barbara  pater  barbarior. 
Let  me  say  it  in  the  plural:  the  Beasts  of  Gevaudan. 

The  lanterns  had  somewhat  dazzled  me,  and  I  plowed 
distressfully   among   stones   and    rubbish-heaps.      All    the  5 
other  houses  in  the  village  were  both  dark  and  silent ;  and 
though  I  knocked  at  here  and  there  a  door,  my  knock- 
ing was  unanswered.     It  was  a  bad  business;  I  gave  up 
Fouzilhac  with  my  curses.     The  rain  had  stopped,  and 
the  wind,  which  still  kept  rising,  began  to  dry  my  coat  10 
and   trousers.      "Very  well,"   thought  I,   "water  or   no 
water,  I  must  camp."     But  the  first  thing  was  to  return 
to  Modestine.     I  am  pretty  sure  I  was  twenty  minutes 
groping  for  my  lady  in  the  dark;  and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  unkindly  services  of  the  bog,  into  which  I  once  15 
more  stumbled,  I  might  have  still  been  groping  for  her  at 
the  dawn.     My  next  business  was  to  gain  the  shelter  of  a 
wood,  for  the  wind  was  cold  as  well  as  boisterous.     How, 
in  this  well-wooded  district,  I  should  have  been  so  long  in 
finding  one,  is  another  of  the  insoluble  mysteries  of  this  20 
day's  adventures;   but   I   will   take  my   oath   that   I   put 
near  an  hour  to  the  discovery. 

At  last  black  trees  began  to  show  upon  my  left,  and, 
suddenly  crossing  the  road,  made  a  cave  of  unmitigated 
blackness  right  in  front.  I  call  it  a  cave  without  exag-  25 
geration ;  to  pass  below  that  arch  of  leaves  was  like 
entering  a  dungeon.  I  felt  about  until  my  hand  encoun- 
tered a  stout  branch,  and  to  this  I  tied  Modestine,  a  hag- 
gard, drenched,  desponding  donkey.  Then  I  lowered  my 
pack,  laid  it  along  the  wall  on  the  margin  of  the  road,  30 
and  unbuckled  the  straps.  I  knew  well  enough  where 
the  lantern  was ;  but  where  were  the  candles  ?  I  groped  and 
groped  among  the  tumbled  articles,  and,  while  I  was  thus 
groping,  suddenly  I  touched  the  spirit-lamp.     Salvation! 


lyo  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

This  would  serve  my  turn  as  well.  The  wind  roared 
unwearyingly  among  the  trees;  I  could  hear  the  boughs 
tossing  and  the  leaves  churning  through  half  a  mile  of 
forest;  yet  the  scene  of  my  encampment  was  not  only  as 
5  black  as  a  pit,  but  admirably  sheltered.  At  the  second 
match  the  wick  caught  flame.  The  light  was  both  livid 
and  shifting;  but  it  cut  me  off  from  the  universe,  and 
doubled  the  darkness  of  the  surrounding  night. 

I   tied  Modestine   more   conveniently   for   herself,   and 

10  broke  up  half  the  black  bread  for  her  supper,  reserving 
the  other  half  against  the  morning.  Then  I  gathered 
what  I  should  want  within  reach,  took  off  my  wet  boots 
and  gaiters,  which  I  wrapped  in  my  water-proof,  arranged 
my  knapsack  for  a  pillow  under  the  flap  of  my  sleeping- 

15  bag,  insinuated  my  limbs  into  the  interior,  and  buckled 
myself  in  like  a  bambino.  I  opened  a  tin  of  Bologna 
sausage  and  broke  a  cake  of  chocolate,  and  that  was  all 
I  had  to  eat.  It  may  sound  offensive,  but  I  ate  them 
together,  bite  by  bite,  by  way  of  bread  and  meat.     All 

20  I  had  to  wash  down  this  revolting  mixture  was  neat 
brandy:  a  revolting  beverage  in  itself.  But  I  was  rare 
and  hungry;  ate  well,  and  smoked  one  of  the  best  ciga- 
rettes in  my  experience.  Then  I  put  a  stone  in  my  straw 
hat,  pulled  the  flap  of  my  fur  cap  over  my  neck  and  eyes, 

25  put  my  revolver  ready  to  my  hand,  and  snuggled  well 
down  among  the  sheepskins. 

I  questioned  at  first  if  I  were  sleepy,  for  I  felt  my  heart 
beating  faster  than  usual,  as  if  with  an  agreeable  ex- 
citement to  which  my  mind  remained  a  stranger.     But 

30  as  soon  as  my  eyelids  touched,  that  subtle  glue  leaped 
between  them,  and  they  would  no  more  come  separate. 
The  wind  among  the  trees  was  my  lullaby.  Sometimes 
it  sounded  for  minutes  together  with  a  steady  even  rush, 
not  rising  nor  abating;  and  again  it  would  swell  and  burst 


A  Camp  in  the  Dark  171 

like  a  great  crashing  breaker,  and  the  trees  would  patter 
me  all  over  with  big  drops  from  the  rain  of  the  afternoon. 
Night  after  night,  in  my  own  bed-room  in  the  country, 
I  have  given  ear  to  this  perturbing  concert  of  the  wind 
among  the  woods;  but  whether  it  was  a  difference  in  the  5 
trees,  or  the  He  of  the  ground,  or  because  I  was  myself 
outside  and  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  fact  remains  that 
the  wind  sang  to  a  different  tune  among  these  woods  of 
Gevaudan.  I  hearkened  and  hearkened ;  and  meanwhile 
sleep  took  gradual  possession  of  my  body  and  subdued  10 
my  thoughts  and  senses;  but  still  my  last  waking  effort 
was  to  listen  and  distinguish,  and  my  last  conscious  state 
was  one  of  wonder  at  the  foreign  clamor  in  my  ears. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  the  dark  hours — once  when  a 
stone  galled  me  underneath  the  sack,  and  again  when  the  15 
poor  patient  Modestine,  growing  angry,  pawed  and 
stamped  upon  the  road — I  was  recalled  for  a  brief  while 
to  consciousness,  and  saw  a  star  or  two  overhead,  and  the 
lace-like  edge  of  the  foliage  against  the  sky.  When  I 
awoke  for  the  third  time  (Wednesday,  September  25th),  20 
the  world  was  flooded  with  a  blue  light,  the  mother  of  the 
dawn.  I  saw  the  leaves  laboring  in  the  wind  and  the 
ribbon  of  the  road ;  and,  on  turning  my  head,  there  was 
Modestine  tied  to  a  beech,  and  standing  half  across  the 
path  in  an  attitude  of  inimitable  patience.  I  closed  my  25 
eyes  again,  and  set  to  thinking  over  the  experience  of  the 
night.  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  easy  and  pleasant  it 
had  been,  even  in  this  tempestuous  weather.  The  stone 
which  annoyed  me  would  not  have  been  there,  had  I  not 
been  forced  to  camp  blindfold  in  the  opaque  night;  and  30 
I  had  felt  no  other  inconvenience  except  when  my  feet 
encountered  the  lantern  or  the  second  volume  of  Peyrat's 
Pastors  of  the  Desert  among  the  mixed  contents  of  my 
sleeping-bag;  nay  more,  I  had  felt  not  a  touch  of  cold, 


172  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

and  awakened  with  unusually  lightsome  and  clear  sensa- 
tions. 

With  that,  I  shook  myself,  got  once  more  into  my 
boots  and  gaiters,  and  breaking  up  the  rest  of  the  bread 
5  for  Modestine,  strolled  about  to  see  in  what  part  of  the 
world  I  had  awakened.  Ulysses,  left  on  Ithaca,  and  with 
a  mind  unsettled  by  the  goddess,  was  not  more  pleasantly 
astray.  I  have  been  after  an  adventure  all  my  life,  a 
pure   dispassionate   adventure,    such   as   befell    early   and 

10  heroic  voyagers ;  and  thus  to  be  found  by  morning  in  a 
random  woodside  nook  in  Gevaudan — not  knowing  north 
from  south,  as  strange  to  my  surroundings  as  the  first 
man  upon  the  earth,  an  inland  castaway — was  to  find 
a  fraction  of  my  day-dreams  realized.     I  was  on  the  skirts 

15  of  a  little  wood  of  birch,  sprinkled  with  a  few  beeches; 
behind,  it  adjoined  another  wood  of  fir;  and  in  front,  it 
broke  up  and  went  down  in  open  order  into  a  shallow  and 
meadowy  dale.  All  around  there  were  bare  hill-tops,  some 
near,  some  far  away,  as  the  perspective  closed  or  opened, 

20  but  none  apparently  much  higher  than  the  rest.  The  wind 
huddled  the  trees.  The  golden  specks  of  autumn  in  the 
birches  tossed  shiveringly.  Overhead  the  sky  was  full 
of  strings  and  shreds  of  vapor,  flying,  vanishing,  reap- 
pearing, and  turning  about  an  axis  like  tumblers,  as  the 

25  wind  hounded  them  through  heaven.  It  was  wild 
w^eather  and  famishing  cold.  I  ate  some  chocolate,  swal- 
lowed a  mouthful  of  brandy,  and  smoked  a  cigarette  before 
the  cold  should  have  time  to  disable  my  fingers.  And 
by  the  time  I  had  got  all  this  done,  and  made  my  pack 

30  and  bound  it  on  the  pack-saddle,  the  day  was  tiptoe  on 
the  threshold  of  the  east.  We  had  not  gone  many  steps 
along  the  lane,  before  the  sun,  still  invisible  to  me,  sent  a 
glow  of  gold  over  some  cloud  mountains  that  lay  ranged 
along  the  eastern  sky. 


A  Camp  In  the  Dark  173 

The  wind  had  us  on  the  stern,  and  hurried  us  bitingly 
forward.  I  buttoned  myself  into  my  coat,  and  walked 
on  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  with  all  men,  when  sud- 
denly, at  a  corner,  there  was  Fouzilhic  once  more  in  front 
of  me.  Nor  only  that,  but  there  was  the  old  gentleman  S 
who  had  escorted  me  so  far  the  night  before,  running  out 
of  his  house  at  sight  of  me,  with  hands  upraised  in  horror. 

"  My  poor  boy!  "  he  cried,  "what  does  this  mean?" 

I  told  him  what  had  happened.     He  beat  his  old  hands 
like  clappers  in  a  mill,  to  think  how  lightly  he  had  let  me  10 
go;  but  when  he  heard  of  the  man  of  Fouzilhac,  anger 
and  depression  seized  upon  his  mind. 

"This  time,  at  least,"  said  he,  "there  shall  be  no  mis- 
take." 

And  he  limped  along,  for  he  was  very  rheumatic,  for  15 
about  half  a  mile,  and  until  I  was  almost  within  sight  of 
Cheylard,  the  destination  I  had  hunted  for  so  long. 


CHAPTER  V 

CHEYLARD    AND    LUC 

Candidly,  it  seemed  little  worthy  of  all  this  searching. 
A  few  broken  ends  of  village,  with  no  particular  street, 
but  a  succession  of  open  places  heaped  with  logs  and 
fagots ;  a  couple  of  tilted  crosses,  a  shrine  to  our  Lady  of 
5  all  Graces  on  the  summit  of  a  little  hill ;  and  all  this, 
upon  a  rattling  highland  river,  in  the  corner  of  a  naked 
valley.  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see?  thought  I  to  my- 
self. But  the  place  had  a  life  of  its  own.  I  found  a 
board  commemorating  the  liberalities  of  Cheylard  for  the 

10  past  year,  hung  up,  like  a  banner,  in  the  diminutive  and 
tottering  church.  In  1877,  it  appeared,  the  inhabitants 
subscribed  forty-eight  francs  ten  centimes  for  the  "  Work 
of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith."  Some  of  this,  I  could 
not   help   hoping,   would   be  applied   to   my  native   land. 

15  Cheylard  scrapes  together  halfpence  for  the  darkened 
souls  in  Edinburgh ;  while  Balquidder  and  Dunrossness 
bemoan  the  ignorance  of  Rome.  Thus,  to  the  high  enter- 
tainment of  the  angels,  do  we  pelt  each  other  with 
evangelists,  like  schoolboys  bickering  in  the  snow. 

20  The  inn  was  again  singularly  unpretentious.  The 
whole  furniture  of  a  not  ill-to-do  family  was  in  the 
kitchen:  the  beds,  the  cradle,  the  clothes,  the  plate-rack, 
the  meal-chest,  and  the  photograph  of  the  parish  priest. 
There  were  five  children,   one  of  whom  was  set  to  its 

25  morning  prayers  at  the  stair-foot  soon  after  my  arrival, 
and  a  sixth  would  ere  long  be  forthcoming.    I  was  kindly 

174 


Cheylard  and  Luc  175 

received  by  these  good  folk.  They  were  much  Interested 
in  my  misadventure.  The  wood  in  which  I  had  slept 
belonged  to  them ;  the  man  of  Fouzilhac  they  thought  a 
monster  of  iniquity,  and  counseled  me  warmly  to  summon 
him  at  law — "  because  I  might  have  died."  The  good  5 
wife  was  horror-stricken  to  see  me  drink  over  a  pint  of  un- 
creamed  milk. 

"  You  will  do  yourself  an  evil,"  she  said.  "  Permit  me 
to  boil  it  for  you." 

After  I  had  begun  the  morning  on  this  delightful  liquor,  10 
she   having  an   infinity  of  things  to  arrange,   I  was  per- 
mitted, nay  requested,  to  make  a  bowl  of  chocolate  for 
myself.     My  boots  and  gaiters  were  hung  up  to  dry,  and, 
seeing  me  trying  to  write  my  journal  on  my  knee,  the 
eldest  daughter  let  down  a  hinged  table  in  the  chimney-  15 
corner   for  my  convenience.      Here   I   wrote,   drank  my 
chocolate,  and  finally  ate  an  omelet  before  I  left.     The 
table  was  thick  with  dust;  for,  as  they  explained,  it  was 
not  used  except  in  winter  weather.     I  had  a  clear  look  up 
the  vent,  through  brown  agglomerations  of  soot  and  blue  20 
vapor,  to  the  sky;  and  whenever  a  handful  of  twigs  was 
thrown  on  to  the  fire,  my  legs  were  scorched  by  the  blaze. 

The  husband  had  begun  life  as  a  muleteer,  and  when  I 
came  to  charge  Modestine  showed  himself  full  of  the  pru- 
dence of  his  art.     "  You  will  have  to  change  this  pack-  25 
age,"  said  he;  "it  ought  to  be  in  two  parts,  and  then  you 
might  have  double  the  weight." 

I  explained  that  I  wanted  no  more  weight ;  and  for  no 
donkey  hitherto  created  would  I  cut  my  sleeping-bag  in 
two.  30 

"It  fatigues  her,  however,"  said  the  inn-keeper;  "it 
fatigues  her  greatly  on  the  march.     Look." 

Alas,  there  were  her  two  forelegs  no  better  than  raw 
beef  on  the  inside,  and  blood  was  running  from  under  her 


176  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

tail.  They  told  me  when  I  left,  and  I  was  ready  to  be- 
lieve it,  that  before  a  few  days  I  should  come  to  love 
Modestine  like  a  dog.  Three  days  had  passed,  we  had 
shared  some  misadventures,  and  my  heart  was  still  as  cold 
5  as  a  potato  towards  my  beast  of  burden.  She  was  pretty 
enough  to  look  at;  but  then  she  had  given  proof  of  dead 
stupidity,  redeemed  indeed  by  patience,  but  aggravated 
by  flashes  of  sorry  and  ill-judged  light-heartedness.  And 
I  own  this  new  discovery  seemed   another  point  against 

10  her.  What  the  devil  was  the  good  of  a  she-ass  if  she 
could  not  carry  a  sleeping-bag  and  a  few  necessaries?  I 
saw  the  end  of  the  fable  rapidly  approaching,  when  I 
should  have  to  carry  Modestine.  iEsop  was  the  man  to 
know   the  world!      I   assure   you   I   set   out  with   heavy 

15  thoughts  upon  my  short  day's  march. 

It  was  not  only  heavy  thoughts  about  Modestine  that 
weighted  me  upon  the  way;  it  was  a  leaden  business  al- 
together. For  first,  the  wind  blew  so  rudely  that  I  had 
to  hold   on   the  pack  with  one  hand   from   Cheylard  to 

20 Luc;  and  second,  my  road  lay  through  one  of  the  most 
beggarly  countries  in  the  world.  It  was  like  the  worst  of 
the  Scotch  Highlands,  only  worse;  cold,  naked,  and  ig- 
noble, scant  of  wood,  scant  of  heather,  scant  of  life.  A 
road  and  some  fences  broke  the  unvarying  waste,  and  the 

25  line  of  the  road  was  marked  by  upright  pillars,  to  serve 
in  time  of  snow. 

Why  any  one  should  desire  to  visit  either  Luc  or  Chey- 
lard is  more  than  my  much-inventing  spirit  can  suppose. 
For  my  part,  I  travel  not  to  go  anywhere,  but  to  go.     I 

30  travel  for  travel's  sake.  The  great  affair  is  to  move; 
to  feel  the  needs  and  hitches  of  our  life  more  nearly; 
to  come  down  off  this  feather-bed  of  civilization,  and  find 
the  globe  granite  underfoot  and  strewn  with  cutting 
flints.    Alas,  as  we  get  up  in  life,  and  are  more  preoccu- 


Cheylard  and  Luc  177 

pied  with  our  affairs,  even  a  holiday  is  a  thing  that  must 
be  worked  for.  To  hold  a  pack  upon  a  pack-saddle 
against  a  gale  out  of  the  freezing  north  is  no  high  industry, 
but  it  is  one  that  serves  to  occupy  and  compose  the  mind. 
And  when  the  present  is  so  exacting,  who  can  annoy  him-  5 
self  about  the  future? 

I  came  out  at  length  above  the  AUier.  A  more  un- 
sightly prospect  at  this  season  of  the  year  it  would  be 
hard  to  fancy.  Shelving  hills  rose  round  it  on  all  sides, 
here  dabbled  with  wood  and  fields,  there  rising  to  peaks  10 
alternately  naked  and  hairy  with  pines.  The  color 
throughout  was  black  or  ashen,  and  came  to  a  point  in  the 
ruins  of  the  castle  of  Luc,  which  pricked  up  impudently 
from  below  my  feet,  carrying  on  a  pinnacle  a  tall  white 
statue  of  Our  Lady,  which,  I  heard  with  interest,  weighed  15 
fifty  quintals,  and  was  to  be  dedicated  on  the  6th  of 
October.  Through  this  sorry  landscape  trickled  the  AUier 
and  a  tributary  of  nearly  equal  size,  which  came  down 
to  join  it  through  a  broad  nude  valley  in  Vivarais.  The 
weather  had  somewhat  lightened,  and  the  clouds  massed  20 
in  squadron;  but  the  fierce  wind  still  hunted  them  through 
heaven,  and  cast  great  ungainly  splashes  of  shadow  and 
sunlight  over  the  scene. 

Luc  itself  was  a  straggling  double  file  of  houses  wedged 
between  hill  and  river.  It  had  no  beauty,  nor  was  there  25 
any  notable  feature,  save  the  old  castle  overhead  with  its 
fifty  quintals  of  brand-new  Madonna.  But  the  inn  was 
clean  and  large.  The  kitchen,  with  its  two  box-beds 
hung  with  clean  check  curtains,  with  its  wide  stone  chim- 
ney, its  chimney-shelf  four  yards  long  and  garnished  with  30 
lanterns  and  religious  statuettes,  its  array  of  chests  and 
pair  of  ticking  clocks,  was  the  very  model  of  what  a 
kitchen  ought  to  be;  a  melodrama  kitchen,  suitable  for 
bandits  or  noblemen  in  disguise.     Nor  was  the  scene  dis- 


178  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

graced  by  the  landlady,  a  handsome,  silent,  dark  old 
M'oman,  clothed  and  hooded  in  black  like  a  nun.  Even 
the  public  bedroom  had  a  character  of  its  own,  with  the 
long   deal   tables   and    benches,   where   fifty   might   have 

5  dined,  set  out  as  for  a  harvest-home,  and  the  three  box- 
beds  along  the  wall.  In  one  of  these,  lying  on  straw  and 
covered  with  a  pair  of  table-napkins,  did  I  do  penance 
all  night  long  in  goose-flesh  and  chattering  teeth,  and 
sigh  from  time  to  time  as  I  awakened  for  my  sheepskin 

10  sack  and  the  lee  of  some  great  wood. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 


I  behold 
The  House,  the  Brotherhood  austere — 
And  what  am  I,  that  I  am  here? 

Matthkw  Arnold. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FATHER  APOLLINARIS 

Next  morning  (Thursday,  26th  September)  I  took  the 
road  in  a  new  order.  The  sack  was  no  longer  doubled, 
but  hung  at  full  length  across  the  saddle,  a  green  sausage 
six  feet  long  with  a  tuft  of  blue  wool  hanging  out  of 
either  end.  It  was  more  picturesque,  it  spared  the  don-  5 
key,  and,  as  I  began  to  see,  it  would  insure  stability,  blow 
high,  blow  low.  But  it  was  not  without  a  pang  that  I 
had  so  decided.  For  although  I  had  purchased  a  new 
cord  and  made  all  as  fast  as  I  was  able,  I  was  yet  jealously 
uneasy  lest  the  flaps  should  tumble  out  and  scatter  my  10 
effects  along  the  line  of  march. 

My  way  lay  up  the  bald  valley  of  the  river,  along  the 
march  of  Vivarais  and  Gevaudan.    The  hills  of  Gevaudan 
on  the  right  were  a  little  more  naked,  if  anything,  than 
those  of  Vivarais  upon  the  left,  and  the  former  had  a  15 
monopoly  of  a  low  dotty  underwood  that  grew  thickly 
in   the  gorges  and   died  out   in   solitary  burrs  upon   the 
shoulders   and    the   summits.      Black   bricks   of    fir-wood 
were  plastered  here  and  there  upon  both  sides,  and  here 
and  there  were  cultivated  fields.    A  railway  ran  beside  the  20 
river;  the  only  bit  of  railway  in  Gevaudan,  although  there 
are  many  proposals  afoot  and  surveys  being  made,  and 
even,  as  they  tell  me,  a  station  standing  ready  built  in 
Mende.     A  year  or  two  hence  and  this  may  be  another 
world.    The  desert  is  beleaguered.     Now  may  some  Lan-  25 
guedocian    Wordsworth    turn    the    sonnet    into    patois: 

181 


1 82  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

"  Mountains     and     vales     and     floods,     heard     ye     that 
whistle?  " 

At  a  place  called  La  Bastide  I  was  directed  to  leave  the 
river,  and  follow  a  road  that  mounted  on  the  left  among 
5  the  hills  of  Vivarais,  the  modern  Ardeche ;  for  I  was  now 
come  within  a  little  way  of  my  strange  destination,  the 
Trappist  monastery  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  The  sun 
came  out  as  I  left  the  shelter  of  a  pine-wood,  and  I  beheld 
suddenly  a  fine  wild  landscape  to  the  south.     High  rocky 

10  hills,  as  blue  as  sapphire,  closed  the  view,  and  between 
these  lay  ridge  upon  ridge,  heathery,  craggy,  the  sun  glit- 
tering on  veins  of  rock,  the  underwood  clambering  in  the 
hollows,  as  rude  as  God  made  them  at  the  first.  There 
was  not  a  sign  of  man's  hand  in  all  the  prospect ;  and  in- 

15  deed  not  a  trace  of  his  passage,  save  where  generation  after 
generation  had  walked  in  twisted  footpaths,  in  and  out 
among  the  beeches,  and  up  and  down  upon  the  channeled 
slopes.  The  mists,  which  had  hitherto  beset  me,  were 
now  broken  into  clouds,  and  fled  swiftly  and  shone  brightly 

20  in  the  sun.  I  drew  a  long  breath.  I  was  grateful  to 
come,  after  so  long,  upon  a  scene  of  some  attraction  for 
the  human  heart.  I  own  I  like  definite  form  In  what  my 
eyes  are  to  rest  upon ;  and  if  landscapes  were  sold,  like 
the  sheets  of  characters  of  my  boyhood,  one  penny  plain 

25  and  twopence  colored,  I  should  go  the  length  of  twopence 
every  day  of  my  life. 

But  if  things  had  grown  better  to  the  south,  it  was  still 
desolate  and  inclement  near  at  hand.  A  spidery  cross 
on  every  hilltop  marked  the  neighborhood  of  a  religious 

30  house ;  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond,  the  outlook  south- 
ward opening  out  and  growing  bolder  with  every  step, 
a  white  statue  of  the  Virgin  at  the  corner  of  a  ^oung 
plantation  directed  the  traveler  to  Our  Lady  of  the 
Snows.     Here,  then,  I  struck  leftward,  and  pursued  my 


Father  Apollinaris  183 

way,  driving  my  secular  donkey  before  me,  and  creaking  in 
my  secular  boots  and  gaiters,  towards  the  asylum  of  silence. 

I  had  not  gone  very  far  ere  the  wind  brought  to  me 
the  clanging  of  a  bell,  and  somehow,  I  can  scarce  tell  why, 
my  heart  sank  within  me  at  the  sound.  I  have  rarely  5 
approached  anything  with  more  unaffected  terror  than  the 
monastery  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  This  it  is  to  have 
had  a  Protestant  education.  And  suddenly,  on  turning 
a  corner,  fear  took  hold  on  me  from  head  to  foot — slavish 
superstitious  fear;  and  though  I  did  not  stop  in  my  ad-  10 
vance,  yet  I  went  on  slowly,  like  a  man  who  should  have 
passed  a  bourne  unnoticed,  and  strayed  into  the  country 
of  the  dead.  For  there  upon  the  narrow  new-made  road, 
between  the  stripling  pines,  was  a  medieval  friar,  fight- 
ing with  a  barrowful  of  turfs.  Every  Sunday  of  my  15 
childhood  I  used  to  study  the  Hermits  of  Marco  Sadeler — 
enchanting  prints,  full  of  wood  and  field  and  mediaeval 
landscapes,  as  large  as  a  county,  for  the  imagination  to  go 
a-traveling  in ;  and  here,  sure  enough,  was  one  of  Marco 
Sadeler's  heroes.  He  was  robed  in  white  like  any  specter,  20 
and  the  hood  falling  back,  in  the  instancy  of  his  conten- 
tion with  the  barrow,  disclosed  a  pate  as  bald  and  yellow 
as  a  skull.  He  might  have  been  buried  any  time  these 
thousand  years,  and  all  the  lively  parts  of  him  resolved 
into  earth  and  broken  up  with  the  farmer's  harrow.  25 

I  was  troubled  besides  in  my  mind  as  to  etiquette. 
Durst  I  address  a  person  who  was  under  a  vow  of  silence? 
Clearly  not.  But  drawing  near,  I  doffed  my  cap  to  him 
with  a  far-away  superstitious  reverence.  He  nodded  back, 
and  cheerfully  addressed  me.  Was  I  going  to  the  mon-  30 
astery?  Who  was  I?  An  Englishman?  Ah,  an  Irish- 
man, then? 

"No,"   I   said,   "a  Scotsman." 

A  Scotsman  ?    Ah,  he  had  never  seen  a  Scotsman  before. 


184  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

And  he  looked  me  all  over,  his  good,  honest,  brawny 
countenance  shining  with  interest,  as  a  boy  might  look 
upon  a  lion  or  an  alligator.  From  him  I  learned  with 
disgust  that  I  could  not  be  received  at  Our  Lady  of  the 
5  Snows ;  I  might  get  a  meal,  perhaps,  but  that  was  all. 
And  then,  as  our  talk  ran  on,  and  it  turned  out  that  I  was 
not  a  pedlar,  but  a  literary  man,  who  drew  landscapes  and 
was  going  to  write  a  book,  he  changed  his  manner  of  think- 
ing as  to  my  reception   (for  I   fear  they  respect  persons 

10  even  in  a  Trappist  monastery),  and  told  me  I  must  be  sure 
to  ask  for  the  Father  Prior,  and  state  my  case  to  him  in 
full.  On  second  thoughts  he  determined  to  go  down  with 
me  himself;  he  thought  he  could  manage  for  me  better. 
Might  he  say  that  I  was  a  geographer? 

IS  No;  I  thought,  in  the  interests  of  truth,  he  positively 
might  not. 

"  Very  well,  then  "  (with  disappointment),  "  an  author." 

It  appeared  he  had  been  in  a  seminary  with  six  young 

Irishmen,  all  priests  long  since,  who  had  received  news- 

20  papers  and  kept  him  informed  of  the  state  of  ecclesiastical 
affairs  in  England.  And  he  asked  me  eagerly  after  Dr. 
Pusey,  for  whose  conversion  the  good  man  had  continued 
ever  since  to  pray  night  and  morning. 

"  I  thought  he  was  very  near  the  truth,"  he  said ;  "  and 

25  he  will  reach  it  yet ;  there  is  so  much  virtue  in  prayer." 

He  must  be  a  stiff  ungodly  Protestant  who  can  take 
anything  but  pleasure  in  this  kind  and  hopeful  story. 
While  he  was  thus  near  the  subject,  the  good  father  asked 
me  if  I  were  a  Christian;   and  when  he  found   I   was 

30  not,  or  not  after  his  way,  he  glossed  it  over  with  great 
good-will. 

The  road  which  we  were  following,  and  which  this  stal- 
wart father  had  made  with  his  own  two  hands  within  the 
space  of  a  year,  came  to  a  corner,  and  showed  us  some 


Father  Apollinarls  185 

white  buildings  a  little  further  on  beyond  the  wood.  At 
the  same  time,  the  bell  once  more  sounded  abroad.  We 
were  hard  upon  the  monastery.  Father  ApoUinaris  (for 
that  was  my  companion's  name)  stopped  me. 

"  I  must  not  speak  to  you  down  there,"  he  said.     "  Ask  5 
for  the  Brother  Porter,  and  all  will  be  well.     But  try  to 
see  me  as  you  go  out  again  through  the  wood,  where  I 
may  speak  to  you.     I   am  charmed   to  have  made  your 
acquaintance." 

And  then  suddenly  raising  his  arms,  flapping  his  fingers,  10 
and  crying  out  twice,   "  I   must  not   speak,   I   must  not 
speak !  "  he  ran  away  in  front  of  me  and  disappeared  into 
the  monastery-door. 

I  own  this  somewhat  ghastly  eccentricity  went  a  good 
way  to  revive  my  terrors.     But  where  one  was  so  good  15 
and  simple,  why  should  not  all  be  alike?    I  took  heart  of 
grace,  and  went  forward  to  the  gate  as  fast  as  Modestine, 
who  seemed  to  have  a  disaffection  for  monasteries,  would 
permit.     It  was  the  first  door,  in  my  acquaintance  of  her, 
which  she  had  not  shown  an  indecent  haste  to  enter.     I  20 
summoned  the  place  in  form,  though  with  a  quaking  heart. 
Father   Michael,   the   Father   Hospitaler,   and   a  pair   of 
brown-robed  brothers  came  to  the  gate  and  spoke  with 
me  a  while.     I  think  my  sack  was  the  great  attraction;  it 
had  already  beguiled  the  heart  of  poor  ApoUinaris,  who  25 
had  charged  me  on  my  life  to  show  it  to  the  Father  Prior. 
But  whether  it  was  my  address,  or  the  sack,  or  the  idea 
speedily   published   among  that  part  of   the  brotherhood 
who  attend  on  strangers  that  I  was  not  a  pedlar  after  all, 
I  found  no  difficulty  as  to  my  reception.     Modestine  was  30 
led  away  by  a  layman  to  the  stables,  and  I  and  my  pack 
were  received  into  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows, 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  MONKS 


Father  Michael^  a  pleasant,  fresh-faced,  smiling 
man,  perhaps  of  thirty-five,  took  me  to  the  pantrj',  and 
gave  me  a  glass  of  liqueur  to  stay  me  until  dinner.  We 
had  some  talk,  or  rather  I  should  say  he  listened  to  my 
5  prattle  indulgently  enough,  but  with  an  abstracted  air, 
like  a  spirit  with  a  thing  of  clay.  And  truly  when  I  re- 
member that  I  descanted  principally  on  my  appetite,  and 
that  it  must  have  been  by  that  time  more  than  eighteen 
hours  since  Father  IVIichael  had  so  much  as  broken  bread, 

10  I  can  well  understand  that  he  would  find  an  earthly 
savor  in  my  conversation.  But  his  manner,  though  su- 
perior, was  exquisitely  gracious;  and  I  find  I  have  lurk- 
ing curiosity  as  to  Father  Michael's  past. 

The  whet  administered,  I  was  left  alone  for  a  little  in 

15  the  monastery  garden.  This  is  no  more  than  the  main 
court,  laid  out  in  sandy  paths  and  beds  of  particolored 
dahlias,  and  with  a  fountain  and  a  black  statue  of  the 
Virgin  in  the  center.  The  buildings  stand  around  it  four- 
square, bleak,  as  yet  unseasoned  by  the  years  and  weather, 

20  and  with  no  other  features  than  a  belfry  and  a  pair  of 
slated  gables.  Brothers  in  white,  brothers  in  brown,  passed 
silently  along  the  sanded  alleys;  and  when  I  first  came 
out,  three  hooded  monks  were  kneeling  on  the  terrace  at 
their   prayers.     A   naked   hill   commands   the   monastery 

25  upon  one  side,  and  the  wood  commands  it  on  the  other. 
It  lies  exposed  to  wind;  the  snow  falls  off  and  on  from 

186 


The  Monks  187 

October  to  May,  and  sometimes  lies  six  weeks  on  end ;  but 
if  they  stood  in  Eden,  with  a  climate  like  heaven's,  the 
buildings  themselves  would  offer  the  same  wintry  and 
cheerless  aspect;  and  for  my  part,  on  this  wild  September 
day,  before  1  was  called  to  dinner,  I  felt  chilly  in  and  out.  5 

When  I  had  eaten  well  and  heartily.  Brother  Ambrose, 
a  hearty  conversable  Frenchman  (for  all  those  who  wait 
on  strangers  have  the  liberty  to  speak),  led  me  to  a  little 
room  in  that  part  of  the  building  which  is  set  apart  for 
MM.  les  retraitants.  It  was  clean  and  whitewashed,  and  10 
furnished  with  strict  necessaries,  a  crucifix,  a  bust  of  the 
late  pope,  the  Imitation  in  French,  a  book  of  religious 
meditations,  and  the  life  of  Elizabeth  Seton,  evangelist,  it 
would  appear,  of  North  America  and  of  New  England  in 
particular.  As  far  as  my  experience  goes,  there  is  a  fair  15 
field  for  some  more  evangelization  in  these  quarters ;  but 
think  of  Cotton  Mather!  I  should  like  to  give  him  a 
reading  of  this  little  book  in  heaven,  where  I  hope  he 
dwells;  but  perhaps  he  knows  all  that  already,  and  much 
more;  and  perhaps  he  and  Mrs.  Seton  are  the  dearest  20 
friends,  and  gladly  unite  their  voices  in  the  everlasting 
psalm.  Over  the  table,  to  conclude  the  inventory  of  the 
room,  hung  a  set  of  regulations  for  MM.  les  retraitants: 
what  services  they  should  attend,  when  they  were  to  tell 
their  beads  or  meditate  and  when  they  were  to  rise  and  25 
go  to  rest.  At  the  foot  was  a  notable  N.B.:  "  Le  temps 
libre  est  employe  a  I'examen  de  conscience,  a  la  confession, 
a  faire  de  bonnes  resolutions,  etc."  To  make  good  reso- 
lutions, indeed!  You  might  talk  as  fruitfully  of  making 
the  hair  grow  on  your  head.  30 

I  had  scarce  explored  my  niche  when  Brother  Ambrose 
returned.  An  English  boarder,  it  appeared,  would  like 
to  speak  with  me.  I  professed  my  willingness,  and  the 
friar  ushered  in  a  fresh,  young,  little  Irishman  of  fifty, 


1 88  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

a  deacon  of  the  Church,  arrayed  in  strict  canonicals, 
and  wearing  on  his  head  what,  in  default  of  knowledge,  I 
can  only  call  the  ecclesiastical  shako.  He  had  lived  seven 
years  in  retreat  at  a  convent  of  nuns  in  Belgium,  and  now 
5  five  at  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows ;  he  never  saw  an  English 
newspaper;  he  spoke  French  imperfectly,  and  had  he 
spoken  it  like  a  native,  there  was  not  much  chance  of 
conversation  where  he  dwelt.  With  this,  he  was  a  man 
eminently   sociable,    greedy   of   news,   and   simple-minded 

lo  like  a  child.  If  I  was  pleased  to  have  a  guide  about  the 
monastery,  he  was  no  less  delighted  to  see  an  English 
face  and  hear  an  English  tongue. 

He  showed  me  his  own  room,  where  he  passed  his  time 
among    breviaries,    Hebrew    bibles,    and    the    Waverley 

15  novels.  Thence  he  led  me  to  the  cloisters,  into  the 
chapter-house,  through  the  vestry,  where  the  brothers' 
gowns  and  broad  straw  hats  were  hanging  up,  each  with 
his  religious  name  upon  a  board, — names  full  of  legendary 
suavity  and  interest,  such  as  Basil,  Hilarion,  Raphael,  or 

20  Pacifique ;  into  the  library,  where  were  all  the  works  of 
Veuillot  and  Chateaubriand,  and  the  Odes  et  Ballades, 
if  you  please,  and  even  Moliere,  to  say  nothing  of  innu- 
merable fathers  and  a  great  variety  of  local  and  general 
historians.     Thence  my  good  Irishman  took  me  round  the 

25  workshops,  where  brothers  bake  bread,  and  make  cart- 
wheels, and  take  photographs;  w^here  one  superintends  a 
collection  of  curiosities,  and  another  a  gallery  of  rabbits. 
For  in  a  Trappist  monastery  each  monk  has  an  occupa- 
tion of  his  own  choice,  apart  from  his  religious  duties  and 

30  the  general  labors  of  the  house.  Each  must  sing  in  the 
choir,  if  he  has  a  voice  and  ear,  and  join  in  the  ha)'making 
if  he  has  a  hand  to  stir ;  but  in  his  private  hours,  although 
he  must  be  occupied,  he  may  be  occupied  on  what  he  likes. 
Thus  I  was  told  that  one  brother  was  engaged  with  litera- 


The  Monks  189 

ture;  while  Father  Apollinaris  busies  himself  in  making 
roads,  and  the  Abbot  employs  himself  in  binding  books. 
It  is  not  so  long  since  this  Abbot  was  consecrated,  by  the 
way;  and  on  that  occasion,  by  a  special  grace,  his  mother 
was  permitted  to  enter  the  chapel  and  witness  the  ceremony  5 
of  consecration.  A  proud  day  for  her  to  have  a  son  mitred 
abbot;  it  makes  you  glad  to  think  they  let  her  in. 

In  all  these  journeyings  to  and  fro,  many  silent  fathers 
and  brethren  fell  in  our  way.  Usually  they  paid  no  more 
regard  to  our  passage  than  if  we  had  been  a  cloud;  but  10 
sometimes  the  good  deacon  had  a  permission  to  ask  of 
them,  and  it  was  granted  by  a  peculiar  movement  of  the 
hands,  almost  like  that  of  a  dog's  paws  in  swimming,  or 
refused  by  the  usual  negative  signs,  and  in  either  case  with 
lowered  eyelids  and  a  certain  air  of  contrition,  as  of  a  man  15 
who  was  steering  very  close  to  evil. 

The  monks,  by  special  grace  of  their  Abbot,  were  still 
taking  two  meals  a  day;  but  it  was  already  time  for  their 
grand  fast,  which  begins  somewhere  in  September  and 
lasts  till  Easter,  and  during  which  they  eat  but  once  in  20 
the  twenty-four  hours,  and  that  at  two  in  the  afternoon, 
twelve  hours  after  they  have  begun  the  toil  and  vigil  of 
the  day.  Their  meals  are  scanty,  but  even  of  these  they 
eat  sparingly;  and  though  each  is  allowed  a  small  carafe 
of  wine,  many  refrain  from  this  indulgence.  Without  25 
doubt,  the  most  of  mankind  grossly  overeat  themselves; 
our  meals  serve  not  only  for  support,  but  as  a  hearty  and 
natural  diversion  from  the  labor  of  life.  Yet,  though 
excess  may  be  hurtful,  I  should  have  thought  this  Trappist 
regimen  defective.  And  I  am  astonished,  as  I  look  back,  30 
at  the  freshness  of  face  and  cheerfulness  of  manner  of  all 
whom  I  beheld.  A  happier  nor  a  healthier  company  I 
should  scarce  suppose  that  I  have  ever  seen.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  on  this  bleak  upland,  and  with  the  incessant 


190  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

occupation  of  the  monks,  life  is  of  an  uncertain  tenure,  and 
death  no  infrequent  visitor,  at  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 
This,  at  least,  was  what  was  told  me.  But  if  they  die 
easily,  they  must  live  healthily  in  the  meantime,  for  they 
5  seemed  all  firm  of  flesh  and  high  in  color;  and  the  only 
morhid  sign  that  I  could  observe,  an  unusual  brilh'ancy 
of  eye,  was  one  that  served  rather  to  increase  the  general 
imp^ession  of  vivacity  and  strength. 

Those  with  whom  I  spoke  were  singularly  sweet  tem- 

10  pered,  with  what  I  can  only  call  a  holy  cheerfulness  in 
air  and  conversation.  There  is  a  note,  in  the  direction  to 
visitors,  telling  them  not  to  be  offended  at  the  curt  speech 
of  those  who  wait  upon  them,  since  it  is  proper  to  monks  to 
speak  little.    The  note  might  have  been  spared ;  to  a  man 

15  the  hospitalers  were  all  brimming  with  innocent  talk,  and 
in  m_v  experience  of  the  monastery,  it  was  easier  to  begin 
than  to  break  off  a  conversation.  With  the  exception  of 
Father  Michael,  who  was  a  man  of  the  world,  they  showed 
themselves  full  of  kind  and  healthy  interest  in  all  sorts 

20  of  subjects — in  politics,  in  voyages,  in  my  sleeping-sack — 
and  not  without  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  sound  of  their 
own  voices. 

As  for  those  who  are  restricted  to  silence,  I  can  only 
wonder  how  they  bear  their  solemn  and  cheerless  isolation. 

25  And  yet,  apart  from  any  view  of  mortification,  I  can  see 
a  certain  policy,  not  only  in  the  exclusion  of  women,  but 
in  this  vow  of  silence.  I  have  had  some  experience  of  lay 
phalansteries,  of  an  artistic,  not  to  say  a  bacchanalian, 
character ;  and  seen  more  than  one  association  easily  formed 

30  and  yet  more  easily  dispersed.  With  a  Cistercian  rule, 
perhaps  they  might  have  lasted  longer.  In  the  neighbor- 
hood of  women  it  is  but  a  touch-and-go  association  that 
can  be  formed  among  defenceless  men ;  the  stronger  elec- 
tricity  is  sure  to  triumph;   the  dreams  of  boyhood,   the 


The  Monks  191 

schemes  of  j^outh,  are  abandoned  after  an  interview  of 
ten  minutes,  and  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  professional 
male  jollity,  deserted  at  once  for  two  sweet  eyes  and  a 
caressing  accent.  And  next  after  this,  the  tongue  is  the 
great  divider.  5 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  pursue  this  worldly  criticism 
of  a  religious  rule ;  but  there  is  yet  another  point  in  which 
the  Trappist  order  appeals  to  me  as  a  model  of  wisdom. 
By  two  in  the  morning  the  clapper  goes  upon  the  bell,  and 
so  on,  hour  by  hour,  and  sometimes,  quarter  by  quarter,  10 
till  eight,  the  hour  of  rest ;  so  infinitesimally  is  the  day 
divided  among  different  occupations.  The  man  who  keeps 
rabbits,  for  example,  hurries  from  his  hutches  to  the  chapel, 
the  chapter- room,  or  the  refectory,  all  day  long:  every 
hour  he  has  an  office  to  sing,  a  duty  to  perform:  from  15 
two,  when  he  rises  in  the  dark,  till  eight,  when  he  re- 
turns to  receive  the  comfortable  gift  of  sleep,  he  is  upon 
his  feet  and  occupied  with  manifold  and  changing  business. 
I  know  many  persons,  worth  several  thousands  in  the 
year,  who  are  not  so  fortunate  in  the  disposal  of  their  20 
lives.  Into  how  many  houses  would  not  the  note  of  the 
monastery  bell,  dividing  the  day  into  manageable  portions, 
bring  peace  of  mind  and  healthful  activity  of  body!  We 
speak  of  hardships,  but  the  true  hardship  is  to  be  a  dull 
fool,  and  permitted  to  mismanage  life  in  our  own  dull  25 
and  foolish  manner. 

From  this  point  of  view,  we  may  perhaps  better  under- 
stand the  monk's  existence.  A  long  novitiate  and  every 
proof  of  constancy  of  mind  and  strength  of  body  is  re- 
quired before  admission  to  the  order;  but  I  could  not  30 
find  that  many  were  discouraged.  In  the  photographer's 
studio,  which  figures  so  strangely  among  the  outbuildings, 
my  eye  was  attracted  by  the  portrait  of  a  young  fellow  in 
the  uniform  of  a  private  of  foot.     This  was  one  of  the 


192  Travels  with   a   Donkey- 

novices,  who  came  of  the  age  for  service,  and  marched 
and  drilled  and  mounted  guard  for  the  proper  time  among 
the  garrison  of  Algiers.  Here  was  a  man  who  had  surely 
seen  both  sides  of  life  before  deciding;  yet  as  soon  as  he 
5  was  set  free  from  service  he  returned  to  finish  his  novitiate. 
This  austere  rule  entitles  a  man  to  heaven  as  by  right. 
When  the  Trappist  sickens,  he  quits  not  his  habit ;  he 
lies  in  the  bed  of  death  as  he  has  prayed  and  labored  in  his 
frugal  and  silent  existence ;  and  when  the  Liberator  comes, 

10  at  the  verj'  moment,  even  before  they  have  carried  him  in 
his  robe  to  lie  his  little  last  in  the  chapel  among  continual 
chantings.  joy-bells  break  forth,  as  if  for  a  marriage,  from 
the  slated  belfry,  and  proclaim  throughout  the  neighbor- 
hood that  another  soul  has  gone  to  God. 

15  At  night,  under  the  conduct  of  my  kind  Irishman,  I 
took  my  place  in  the  gallery  to  hear  compline  and  Salve 
Regina,  with  which  the  Cistercians  bring  every  day  to  a 
conclusion.  There  were  none  of  those  circumstances  which 
strike  the  Protestant  as  childish  or  as  tawdry  in  the  public 

20  offices  of  Rome.  A  stern  simplicity,  heightened  by  the 
romance  of  the  surroundings,  spoke  directly  to  the  heart. 
I  recall  the  whitewashed  chapel,  the  hooded  figures  in  the 
choir,  the  lights  alternately  occluded  and  revealed,  the 
strong  manly  singing,  the  silence  that  ensued,  the  sight 

25  of  cowled  heads  bowed  in  prayer,  and  then  the  clear 
trenchant  beating  of  the  bell,  breaking  in  to  show  that  the 
last  office  was  over  and  the  hour  of  sleep  had  come;  and 
when  I  remember,  I  ain  not  surprised  that  I  made  my 
escape  into  the  court  with  somewhat  whirling  fancies,  and 

30  stood  like  a  man  bewildered  in  the  windy  starry  night. 

But  I  was  weary;  and  when  I  had  quieted  my  spirits 

with  Elizabeth  Seton's  memoirs — a  dull  work — the  cold 

and  the  raving  of  the  wind  among  the  pines — for  my  room 

was  on  that  side  of  the  monastery  which  adjoins  the  woods 


The  Monks  193 

— disposed  me  readily  to  slumber,  I  was  wakened  at 
black  midnight,  as  it  seemed,  though  it  was  really  two  in 
the  morning,  by  the  first  stroke  upon  the  bell.  All  the 
brothers  were  then  hurrying  to  the  chapel ;  the  dead  in 
life,  at  this  untimely  hour,  were  already  beginning  the  5 
uncomforted  labors  of  their  day.  The  dead  in  life — 
there  was  a  chill  reflection.  And  the  words  of  a  French 
song  came  back  into  my  memory,  telling  of  the  best  of  our 
mixed  existence. 

"  Que  t'as   de   belles  filles,  ID 

Girofle ! 

Girofla! 

Que  t'as   de   belles   filles, 

L'Amour  les  comptera!  " 

And  I  blessed  God  that  I  was  free  to  wander,  free  to  hope,  15 
and  free  to  love. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    BOARDERS 

But  there  was  another  side  to  my  residence  at  Our 
Lady  of  the  Snows.  At  this  late  season  there  were  not 
many  boarders;  and  yet  I  was  not  alone  in  the  public 
part  of  the  monastery.     This  itself  is  hard  by 'the  gate, 

5  with  a  small  dining-room  on  the  ground-floor,  and  a  whole 
corridor  of  cells  similar  to  mine  up-stairs.  I  have  stupidly 
forgotten  the  board  for  a  regular  retraitant;  but  it  was 
somewhere  between  three  and  five  francs  a  day,  and  I 
think  most  probably  the  first.     Chance  visitors  like  myself 

10  might  give  what  they  chose  as  a  free-will  offering,  but 
nothing  was  demanded.  I  may  mention  that  when  I 
was  going  away.  Father  Michael  refused  twenty  francs 
as  excessive.  I  explained  the  reasoning  which  led  me  to 
offer  him  so  much ;  but  even  then,  from  a  curious  point  of 

15  honor,  he  would  not  accept  it  with  his  own  hand.  "  I 
have  no  right  to  refuse  for  the  monastery,"  he  explained, 
"  but  I  should  prefer  if  you  would  give  it  to  one  of  the 
brothers." 

I  had  dined  alone,  because  I  arrived  late ;  but  at  supper 

20 1  found  two  other  guests.  One  was  a  country  parish 
priest,  w^ho  had  walked  over  that  morning  from  the  seat  of 
his  cure  near  Mende  to  enjoy  four  days  of  solitude  and 
prayer.  He  was  a  grenadier  in  person,  with  the  hale  color 
and  circular  wrinkles  of  a  peasant ;  and  as  he  complained 

25  much  of  how  he  had  been  impeded  by  his  skirts  upon  the 
march,  I  had  a  vivid  fancy  portrait  of  him,  striding  along, 

194 


The  Boarders  195 

upright,  big-boned,  with  kilted  cassock,  through  the  bleak 
hills  of  Gevaudan,  The  other  was  a  short,  grizzling, 
thick-set  man,  from  forty-five  to  fifty,  dressed  in  tweed 
with  a  knitted  spencer,  and  the  red  ribbon  of  a  decoration 
in  his  buttonhole.  This  last  was  a  hard  person  to  classify.  5 
He  was  an  old  soldier,  who  had  seen  service  and  risen  to 
the  rank  of  commandant ;  and  he  retained  some  of  the 
brisk  decisive  manners  of  the  camp.  On  the  other  hand, 
as  soon  as  his  resignation  was  accepted,  he  had  come  to 
Our  Lady  of  the  Snows  as  a  boarder,  and,  after  a  brief  10 
experience  of  its  ways,  had  decided  to  remain  as  a  novice. 
Already  the  new  life  was  beginning  to  modify  his  appear- 
ance; already  he  had  acquired  somewhat  of  the  quiet  and 
smiling  air  of  the  brethren;  and  he  was  as  yet  neither  an 
officer  nor  a  Trappist,  but  partook  of  the  character  of  15 
each.  And  certainly  here  was  a  man  in  an  interesting 
nick  of  life.  Out  of  the  noise  of  cannon  and  trumpets, 
he  was  in  the  act  of  passing  into  this  still  country  border- 
ing on  the  grave,  where  men  sleep  nightly  in  their  grave- 
clothes,  and,  like  phantoms,  communicate  by  signs.  20 

At  supper  we  talked  politics.  I  make  it  my  business, 
when  I  am  in  France,  to  preach  political  good-will  and 
moderation,  and  to  dwell  on  the  example  of  Poland,  much 
as  some  alarmists  in  England  dwell  on  the  example  of 
Carthage.  The  priest  and  the  Commandant  assured  me  of  25 
their  sympathy  with  all  I  said,  and  made  a  heavy  sighing 
over  the  bitterness  of  contemporary  feeling. 

"  Why,  you  cannot  say  anything  to  a  man  with  which  he 
does  not  absolutely  agree,"  said  I,  "  but  he  flies  up  at  you 
in  a  temper."  30 

They  both  declared  that  such  a  state  of  things  was 
antichristian. 

While  we  were  thus  agreeing,  what  should  my  tongue 
stumble  upon  but  a  word  in  praise  of  Gambetta's  modera- 


196  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

tion.  The  old  soldier's  countenance  was  instantly  suf- 
fused with  blood ;  with  the  palms  of  his  hands  he  beat 
the  table  like  a  naughty  child. 

"Comment,     monsieur?"     he     shouted.      "Comment? 
5  Gambetta    moderate?      Will    you    dare   to    justify    these 
words?  " 

But  the  priest  had  not  forgotten  the  tenor  of  our  talk. 
And  suddenly,  in  the  height  of  his  fury,  the  old  soldier 
found  a  warning  look  directed  on  his  face ;  the  absurdity 

10  of  his  behavior  was  brought  home  to  him  in  a  flash; 
and  the  storm  came  to  an  abrupt  end,  without  another 
word. 

It  was  only  in  the  morning,  over  our  coffee  (Friday, 
September   27th),   that   this   couple   found   out   I   was   a 

15  heretic.  I  suppose  I  had  misled  them  by  some  admiring  ex- 
pressions as  to  the  monastic  life  around  us;  and  it  was  only 
by  a  point-blank  question  that  the  truth  came  out.  I  had 
been  tolerantly  used  both  by  simple  Father  Apollinaris  and 
astute  Father  Michael;  and  the  good  Irish  deacon,  when 

20  he  heard  of  my  religious  weakness,  had  only  patted  me 
upon  the  shoulder  and  said,  "  You  must  be  a  Catholic 
and  come  to  heaven."  But  I  was  now  among  a  different 
sect  of  orthodox.  These  two  men  were  bitter  and  up- 
right and  narrow,  like  the  worst  of  Scotsmen,  and  indeed, 

25  upon  my  heart,  I  fancy  they  were  worse.  The  priest 
snorted  aloud  like  a  battle-horse. 

"  Et  vous  pretendez  mourir  dans  cette  espece  de  croy- 
ance?"  he  demanded;  and  there  is  not  type  used  by  mortal 
printers  large  enough  to  qualify  his  accent. 

30      I  humbly  indicated  that  I  had  no  design  of  changing. 

But  he  could  not  away  with  such  a  monstrous  attitude. 
"No,  no,"  he  cried;  "you  must  change.  You  have  come 
here,  God  has  led  you  here,  and  you  must  embrace  the 
opportunity." 


The  Boarders  197 

I  made  a  slip  in  policy;  I  appealed  to  the  family  affec- 
tions, though  I  was  speaking  to  a  priest  and  a  soldier, 
two  classes  of  men  circumstantially  divorced  from  the 
kind  and  homely  ties  of  life. 

"Your  father  and  mother?"  cried  the  priest.     "Very  5 
well;  you  will  convert  them  in  their  turn  when  you  go 
home." 

I  think  I  see  my  father's  face!  I  would  rather  tackle 
the  Gsetulian  lion  in  his  den  than  embark  on  such  an 
enterprise  against  the  family  theologian.  10 

But  now  the  hunt  was  up ;  priest  and  soldier  were  in 
full  cry  for  my  conversion ;  and  the  Work  of  the  Propaga- 
tion of  the  Faith,  for  which  the  people  of  Cheylard  sub- 
scribed forty-eight  francs  ten  centimes  during  1877,  was 
being  gallantly  pursued  against  myself.  It  was  an  odd  15 
but  most  effective  prosielytizing.  They  never  sought  to 
convince  me  in  argument,  where  I  might  have  attempted 
some  defence;  but  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  both 
ashamed  and  terrified  at  my  position,  and  urged  me  solely 
on  the  point  of  time.  Now,  they  said,  when  God  had  20 
led  me  to  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows,  now  was  the  appointed 
hour. 

"  Do  not  be  withheld  by  false  shame,"  observed  the 
priest,   for  my  encouragement. 

For  one  who  feels  very  similarly  to  all  sects  of  religion,  25 
and  who  has  never  been  able,  even  for  a  moment,  to  weigh 
seriously  the  merit  of  this  or  that  creed  on  the  eternal 
side  of  things,  however  much  he  may  see  to  praise  or 
blame  upon  the  secular  and  temporal  side,  the  situation 
thus  created  was  both  unfair  and  painful.  I  committed  30 
my  second  fault  in  tact,  and  tried  to  plead  that  it  was  all 
the  same  thing  in  the  end,  and  we  were  all  drawing  near 
by  different  sides  to  the  same  kind  and  undiscriminating 
Friend  and  Father.    That,  as  it  seems  to  lay-spirits,  would 


198  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

be  the  only  gospel  worthy  of  the  name.  But  different 
men  think  differently ;  and  this  revolutionary  aspiration 
brought  down  the  priest  with  all  the  terrors  of  the  law. 
He  launched  into  harrowing  details  of  hell.  The  damned, 
5  he  said — on  the  authority  of  a  little  book  which  he  had 
read  not  a  week  before,  and  which,  to  add  conviction  to 
conviction,  he  had  fully  intended  to  bring  along  with  him 
in  his  pocket — were  to  occupy  the  same  attitude  through 
all  eternity  in  the  midst  of  dismal  tortures.  And  as  he 
10  thus  expatiated,  he  grew  in  nobility  of  aspect  with  his 
enthusiasm. 

As  a  result  the  pair  concluded  that  I  should  seek  out 

the  Prior,  since  the  Abbot  was  from  home,  and  lay  my 

case  immediately  before  him. 

15      "  C'est  mon  conseil  comme  anc'ien  jnUitaire,"  observed 

the  Commandant;  "  et  celui  de  monsieur  comme  pretre." 

"  Oui,"  added  the  cure,  sententiously  nodding;  "comme 
ancien  militaire — et  comme  pretre." 

At  this  moment,  whilst  I  was  somewhat  embarrassed 
20  how  to  answer,  in  came  one  of  the  monks,  a  little  brown 
fellow,  as  lively  as  a  grig,  and  with  an  Italian  accent,  who 
threw  himself  at  once  into  the  contention,  but  in  a  milder 
and  more  persuasive  vein,  as  befitted  one  of  these  pleasant 
brethren.  Look  at  him,  he  said.  The  rule  was  very 
25  hard  ;  he  would  have  dearly  liked  to  stay  in  his  own  coun- 
try, Italy — it  was  well  known  how  beautiful  it  was,  the 
beautiful  Italy;  but  then  there  were  no  Trappists  in 
Italy ;  and  he  had  a  soul  to  save ;  and  here  he  was. 

I  am  afraid  I  must  be  at  bottom,  what  a  cheerful 
30  Indian  critic  has  dubbed  me,  "a  faddling  hedonist;"  for 
this  description  of  the  brother's  motives  gave  me  some- 
what of  a  shock.  I  should  have  preferred  to  think  he  had 
chosen  the  life  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  ulterior 
purposes;  and  this  shows  how  profoundly  I  was  out  of 


The  Boarders  199 

sympathy  with  these  good  Trappists,  even  when  I  was 
doing  my  best  to  sympathize.  But  to  the  cure  the  argu- 
ment seemed  decisive. 

"Hear  that!"  he  cried.  "And  I  have  seen  a  marquis 
here,  a  marquis,  a  marquis  " — he  repeated  the  holy  word  5 
three  times  over — "and  other  persons  high  in  society; 
and  generals.  And  here,  at  your  side,  is  this  gentleman, 
who  has  been  so  many  years  in  armies — decorated,  an 
old  warrior.  And  here  he  is,  ready  to  dedicate  himself  to 
God."  10 

I  was  by  this  time  so  thoroughly  embarrassed  that  I 
pleaded  cold  feet,  and  made  my  escape  from  the  apart- 
ment. It  was  a  furious  windy  morning,  with  a  sky  much 
cleared,  and  long  and  potent  intervals  of  sunshine;  and  I 
wandered  until  dinner  in  the  wild  country  towards  the  15 
east,  sorely  staggered  and  beaten  upon  by  the  gale,  but 
rewarded  with  some  striking  views. 

At  dinner  the  Work  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith 
was   recommenced,   and   on   this  occasion   still   more   dis- 
tastefully to  me.     The  priest  asked  me  many  questions  as  20 
to  the  contemptible  faith  of  my  fathers,  and  received  my 
replies  with  a  kind  of  ecclesiastical  titter. 

"  Your  sect,"  he  said  once ;  "  for  I  think  you  will  admit 
ft  would  be  doing  it  too  much  honor  to  call  it  a  religion." 

"As  you  please,  monsieur,"  said  I.     "La  parole  est  a  25 
vous." 

At  length  I  grew  annoyed  beyond  endurance;  ancl  al- 
though he  was  on  his  own  ground  and,  what  is  more  to 
the  purpose,  an  old  man,  and  so  holding  a  claim  upon  my 
toleration,  I  could  not  avoid  a  protest  against  this  uncivil  30 
usage.     He  was  sadly  discountenanced. 

"  I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "  I  have  no  inclination  to  laugh 
in  my  heart.  I  have  no  other  feeling  but  interest  in  your 
50ul." 


200  Travels  with   a   Donkey 

And  there  ended  mj'  conversion.  Honest  man!  he 
was  no  dangerous  deceiver;  but  a  country  parson,  full  of 
zeal  and  faith.  Long  may  he  tread  Gevaudan  with  his 
kilted  skirts — a  man  strong  to  walk  and  strong  to  com- 
5  fort  his  parishioners  in  death !  I  daresay  he  would  beat 
bravely  through  a  snow-storm  where  his  duty  called  him; 
and  it  is  not  always  the  most  faithful  believer  who  makes 
the  cunningest  apostle. 


UPPER  GEVAUDAN 
(Continued) 


The  bed  was  made,  the  room  was  fit, 
By  punctual  eve  the  stars  were  lit; 
The  air  was  still,  the  water  ran  ; 
No  need  there  was  for  maid  or  man. 
When  wo  put  up,  my  ass  and  I, 
At  God's  green  caravanserai. 

Old  Play. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ACROSS  THE  GOULET 

The  wind  fell  during  dinner,  and  the  sky  remained 
clear ;  so  it  was  under  better  auspices  that  I  loaded  Modes- 
tine  before  the  monastery-gate.  My  Irish  friend  accom- 
panied me  so  far  on  the  way.  As  we  came  through  the 
wood,  there  was  Pere  Apollinaris  hauling  his  barrow;  5 
and  he  too  quitted  his  labors  to  go  with  me  for  perhaps 
a  hundred  yards,  holding  my  hand  between  both  of  his 
in  front  of  him.  I  parted  first  from  one  and  then  from 
the  other  with  unfeigned  regret,  but  yet  with  the  glee  of 
the  traveler  who  shakes  off  the  dust  of  one  stage  before  10 
hurrying  forth  upon  another.  Then  Modestine  and  I 
mounted  the  course  of  the  Allier,  which  here  led  us  back 
into  Gevaudan  towards  its  sources  in  the  forest  of  Mer- 
coire.  It  was  but  an  inconsiderable  burn  before  we  left  its 
guidance.  Thence,  over  a  hill,  our  way  lay  through  a  15 
naked  plateau,  until  we  reached  Chasserades  at  sundown. 

The  company  in  the  inn-kitchen  that  night  were  all 
men  employed  in  survey  for  one  of  the  projected  railways. 
They  were  intelligent  and  conversable,  and  we  decided 
the  future  of  France  over  hot  wine,  until  the  state  of  the  20 
clock  frightened  us  to  rest.  There  were  four  beds  in  the 
little  up-stairs  room ;  and  we  slept  six.  But  I  had  a  bed 
to  myself,  and  persuaded  them  to  leave  the  window  open. 

"He,  bourgeois;  il  est  cinq  heures!"  was  the  cry  that 
wakened  me  in  the  morning  (Saturday,  September  28th).  25 
The  room  was  full  of  a  transparent  darkness,  which  dimly 

203 


204  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

showed  me  the  other  three  beds  and  the  five  different 
nightcaps  on  the  pillows.  But  out  of  the  window  the 
dawn  was  growing  ruddy  in  a  long  belt  over  the  hilltops, 
and  day  was  about  to  flood  the  plateau.  The  hour  was 
5  inspiriting;  and  there  seemed  a  promise  of  calm  weather, 
which  was  perfectly  fulfilled.  I  was  soon  under  way  with 
Modestine.  The  road  lay  for  a  \vhile  over  the  plateau, 
and  then  descended  through  a  precipitous  village  into  the 
valley  of  the  Chassezac.     This  stream  ran  among  green 

10 meadows,  well  hidden  from  the  world  by  its  steep  banks; 
the  broom  was  in  flower,  and  here  and  there  was  a  hamlet 
sending  up  its  smoke. 

At  last  the  path  crossed  the  Chassezac  upon  a  bridge, 
and,   forsaking  this   deep   hollow%   set   itself   to   cross  the 

15  mountain  of  La  Goulet.  It  wound  up  through  Lestampes 
by  upland  fields  and  woods  of  beech  and  birch,  and  with 
every  corner  brought  me  into  an  acquaintance  with  some 
new  interest.  Even  in  the  gully  of  the  Chassezac  my 
ear  had  been  struck  by  a  noise  like  that  of  a  great  bass 

20  bell  ringing  at  the  distance  of  many  miles ;  but  this,  as  I 
continued  to  mount  and  draw  nearer  to  it,  seemed  to 
change  in  character,  and  I  found  at  length  that  it  came 
from  some  one  leading  flocks  afield  to  the  note  of  a  rural 
horn.      The   narrow   street   of   Lestampes   stood    full   of 

25  sheep,  from  wall  to  wall — black  sheep  and  white,  bleating 
with  one  accord  like  the  birds  in  spring,  and  each  one  ac- 
companying himself  upon  the  sheep-bell  round  his  neck. 
It  made  a  pathetic  concert,  all  in  treble.  A  little  higher, 
and  I  passed  a  pair  of  men  in  a  tree  with  pruning-hooks, 

30  and  one  of  them  was  singing  the  music  of  a  bourree.  Still 
further,  and  when  I  was  already  threading  the  birches, 
the  crowing  of  cocks  came  cheerfully  up  to  my  ears,  and 
along  with  that  the  voice  of  a  flute  discoursing  a  deliber- 
ate and  plaintive  air  from  one  of  the  upland  villages.     I 


Across  the  Goulet  205 

pictured  to  myself  some  grizzled,  apple-cheeked,  country 
schoolmaster  fluting  in  his  bit  of  a  garden  in  the  clear 
autumn  sunshine.  All  these  beautiful  and  interesting 
sounds  filled  my  heart  with  an  unwonted  expectation ; 
and  it  appeared  to  me  that,  once  past  this  range  which  5 
I  was  mounting,  I  should  descend  into  the  garden  of  the 
world.  Nor  was  I  deceived,  for  I  was  now  done  with 
rains  and  winds  and  a  bleak  country.  The  first  part  of 
my  journey  ended  here;  and  this  was  like  an  induction  of 
sweet  sounds  into  the  other  and  more  beautiful.  10 

There  are  other  degrees  of  feyness,  as  of  punishment, 
besides  the  capital ;  and  I  was  now  led  by  my  good  spirits 
into  an  adventure  which  I  relate  in  the  interest  of  future 
donkey-drivers.  The  road  zigzagged  so  widely  on  the 
hillside,  that  I  chose  a  short  cut  by  map  and  compass,  and  15 
struck  through  the  dwarf  woods  to  catch  the  road  again 
upon  a  higher  level.  It  was  my  one  serious  conflict  with 
Modestine.  She  would  none  of  my  short  cut ;  she  turned 
in  my  face,  she  backed,  she  reared ;  she,  whom  I  had 
hitherto  imagined  to  be  dumb,  actually  brayed  with  a  loud  20 
hoarse  flourish,  like  a  cock  crowing  for  the  dawn.  I  plied 
the  goad  with  one  hand ;  with  the  other,  so  steep  was  the 
ascent,  I  had  to  hold'  on  the  pack-saddle.  Half  a  dozen 
times  she  was  nearly  over  backwards  on  the  top  of  me; 
half  a  dozen  times,  from  sheer  weariness  of  spirit,  I  was  25 
nearly  giving  it  up,  and  leading  her  down  again  to  follow 
the  road.  But  I  took  the  thing  as  a  wager,  and  fought  it 
through.  I  was  surprised,  as  I  went  on  my  way  again, 
by  what  appeared  to  be  chill  rain-drops  falling  on  my  hand, 
and  more  than  once  looked  up  in  wonder  at  the  cloudless  30 
sky.  But  it  was  only  sweat  which  came  dropping  from 
my  brow. 

Over  the  summit  of  the  Goulet  there  was  no  marked 
road — only  upright  stones  posted  from  space  to  space  to 


2o6  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

guide  the  drovers.  The  turf  underfoot  was  springy  and 
well  scented.  I  had  no  company  but  a  lark  or  two,  and 
met  but  one  bullock-cart  between  Lestampes  and  Bley- 
mard.  In  front  of  me  I  saw  a  shallow  valley,  and 
5  beyond  that  the  range  of  the  Lozere,  sparsely  wooded  and 
well  enough  modeled  in  the  flanks,  but  straight  and  dull  in 
outline.  There  was  scarce  a  sign  of  culture ;  only  about 
Bleymard,  the  white  high-road  from  Villefort  to  Mende 
traversed  a  range  of  meadows,  set  with  spiry  poplars, 
10  and  sounding  from  side  to  side  with  the  bells  of  flocks 
and  herds. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  PINES 

From  Bleymard  after  dinner,  although  it  was  already 
late,  I  set  out  to  scale  a  portion  of  the  Lozere.  An  ill- 
marked  stony  drove  road  guided  me  forward;  and  I  met 
nearly  half  a  dozen  bullock-carts  descending  from  the 
woods,  each  laden  with  a  whole  pine-tree  for  the  winter's  5 
firing.  At  the  top  of  the  woods,  which  do  not  climb  very 
high  upon  this  cold  ridge,  I  struck  leftward  by  a  path 
among  the  pines,  until  I  hit  on  a  dell  of  green  turf,  where 
a  streamlet  made  a  little  spout  over  some  stones  to  serve 
me  for  a  water-tap.  *'  In  a  more  sacred  or  sequestered  10 
bower  ,  .  .  nor  nymph,  nor  faunus,  haunted."  The 
trees  were  not  old,  but  they  grew  thickly  round  the  glade: 
there  was  no  outlook,  except  north-eastward  upon  distant 
hill-tops,  or  straight  upward  to  the  sky;  and  the  encamp- 
ment felt  secure  and  private  like  a  room.  By  the  time  I  15 
had  made  my  arrangements  and  fed  Modestine,  the  day 
was  already  beginning  to  decline.  I  buckled  myself  to  the 
knees  into  my  sack  and  made  a  hearty  meal ;  and  as  soon 
as  the  sun  went  down,  I  pulled  my  cap  over  my  eyes  and 
fell  asleep.  20 

Night  is  a  dead  monotonous  period  under  a  roof;  but 
in  the  open  world  it  passes  lightly,  with  its  stars  and  dews 
and  perfumes,  and  the  hours  are  marked  by  changes  in  the 
face  of. Nature.  What  seems  a  kind  of  temporal  death 
to  people  choked  between  walls  and  curtains,  is  only  a  25 
light  and   living  slumber  to  the  man  who  sleeps  afield. 

*o^ 


2o8  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

All  night  long  he  can  hear  Nature  breathing  deeply  and 
freely;  even  as  she  takes  her  rest,  she  turns  and  smiles; 
and  there  is  one  stirring  hour  unknown  to  those  who  dwell 
in  houses,  when  a  wakeful  influence  goes  abroad  over  the 

5  sleeping  hemisphere,  and  all  the  outdoor  world  are  on 
their  feet.  It  is  then  that  the  cock  first  crows,  not  this 
time  to  announce  the  dawn,  but  like  a  cheerful  watchman 
speeding  the  course  of  night.  Cattle  awake  on  the  mead- 
ows; sheep  break  their  fast  on  dewy  hillsides,  and  change 

10  to  a  new  lair  among  the  ferns;  and  houseless  men,  who 
have  lain  down  wuth  the  fowls,  open  their  dim  eyes  and 
behold  the  beauty  of  the  night. 

At  what  inaudible  summons,  at  what  gentle  touch  of 
Nature,  are  all  these  sleepers  thus  recalled  in  the  same 

15  hour  to  life  ?  Do  the  stars  rain  down  an  influence,  or  do 
we  share  some  thrill  of  mother  earth  below  our  resting 
bodies?  Even  shepherds  and  old  countrj'-folk,  who  are 
the  deepest  read  in  these  arcana,  have  not  a  guess  as  to 
the  means  or  purpose  of  this  nightly  resurrection.     To- 

20  wards  two  in  the  morning  they  declare  the  thing  takes 
place;  and  neither  know  nor  inquire  further.  And  at 
least  it  is  a  pleasant  incident.  We  are  disturbed  in  our 
slumber  only,  like  the  luxurious  Montaigne,  "  that  we  may 
the  better  and  more  sensibly  relish  it."     We  have  a  mo- 

25  ment  to  look  upon  the  stars.  And  there  is  a  special 
pleasure  for  some  minds  in  the  reflection  that  we  share 
the  impulse  with  all  outdoor  creatures  in  our  neighborhood, 
that  we  have  escaped  out  of  the  Bastille  of  civilization, 
and  are  become,  for  the  time  being,  a  mere  kindly  animal 

30  and  a  sheep  of  Nature's  flock. 

When  that  hour  came  to  me  among  the  pines,  I  wakened 
thirsty.  My  tin  was  standing  by  me  half  full  of  water. 
I  emptied  it  at  a  draught;  and  feeling  broad  awake  after 
this  internal  cold  aspersion,  sat  upright  to  make  a  cigarette. 


A  Night  Among  the  Pines  209 

The  stars  were  clear,  colored,  and  jewel-like,  but  not 
frosty.  A  faint  silvery  vapor  stood  for  the  Milky  Way. 
All  around  me  the  black  fir-points  stood  upright  and  stock- 
still.  By  the  whiteness  of  the  pack-saddle,  I  could  see 
Modestine  walking  round  and  round  at  the  length  of  5 
her  tether ;  I  could  hear  her  steadily  munching  at  the  sward  ; 
but  there  was  not  another  sound,  save  the  indescribable 
quiet  talk  of  the  runnel  over  the  stones.  I  lay  lazily 
smoking  and  studying  the  color  of  the  sky,  as  we  call  the 
void  of  space,  from  where  it  showed  a  reddish  gray  be-  10 
hind  the  pines  to  where  it  showed  a  glossy  blue-black 
between  the  stars.  As  if  to  be  more  like  a  pedlar,  I  wear 
a  silver  ring.  This  I  could  see  faintly  shining  as  I  raised 
and  lowered  the  cigarette;  and  at  each  whiff  the  inside  of 
my  hand  was  illuminated,  and  became  for  a  second  the  15 
highest  light  in  the  landscape. 

A  faint  wind,  more  like  a  moving  coolness  than  a 
stream  of  air,  passed  down  the  glade  from  time  to  time; 
so  that  even  in  my  great  chamber  the  air  was  being  renewed 
all  night  long.  I  thought  with  horror  of  the  inn  at  Chas-  20 
serades  and  the  congregated  nightcaps;  with  horror  of 
the  nocturnal  prowesses  of  clerks  and  students,  of  hot 
theaters  and  pass-keys  and  close  rooms.  I  have  not  often 
enjoyed  a  more  serene  possession  of  myself,  nor  felt  more 
independent  of  material  aids.  The  outer  world,  from  25 
which  we  cower  into  our  houses,  seemed  after  all  a  gentle 
habitable  place;  and  night  after  night  a  man's  bed,  it 
seemed,  was  laid  and  waiting  for  him  in  the  fields,  where 
God  keeps  an  open  house.  I  thought  I  had  rediscovered 
one  of  those  truths  which  are  revealed  to  savages  and  hid  30 
from  political  economists:  at  the  least,  I  had  discovered 
a  new  pleasure  for  myself.  And  yet  even  while  I  was 
exulting  in  my  solitude  I  became  aware  of  a  strange  lack. 
I  wished  a  companion  to  lie  near  me  in  the  starlight,  silent 


2IO  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

and  not  moving,  but  ever  within  touch.  For  there  is  a 
fellowship  more  quiet  even  than  solitude,  and  which, 
rightly  understood,  is  solitude  made  perfect.  And  to 
live  out  of  doors  with  the  woman  a  man  loves  is  of  all 

5  lives  the  most  complete  and  free. 

As  I  thus  lay,  between  content  and  longing,  a  faint 
noise  stole  towards  me  through  the  pines.  I  thought, 
at  first,  it  was  the  crowing  of  cocks  or  the  barking  of 
dogs  at  some  very  distant  farm ;  but  steadily  and  gradu- 

10  ally  it  took  articulate  shape  in  my  ears,  until  I  became 
aware  that  a  passenger  was  going  by  upon  the  high-road 
in  the  valley,  and  singing  loudly  as  he  went.  There  was 
more  of  good-will  than  grace  in  his  performance;  but  he 
trolled  with  ample  lungs ;  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  took 

15  hold  upon  the  hillside  and  set  the  air  shaking  in  the  leafy 
glens.  I  have  heard  people  passing  by  night  in  sleeping 
cities;  some  of  them  sang;  one,  I  remember,  played  loudly 
on  the  bagpipes.  I  have  heard  the  rattle  of  a  cart  or 
carriage  spring  up  suddenly  after  hours  of  stillness,  and 

20  pass,  for  some  minutes,  within  the  range  of  my  hearing  as 
I  lay  abed.  There  is  a  romance  about  all  who  are  abroad 
In  the  black  hours,  and  with  something  of  a  thrill  we 
try  to  guess  their  business.  But  here  the  romance  was 
double:  first,  this  glad  passenger,  lit  internally  with  wine, 

25  who  sent  up  his  voice  in  music  through  the  night ;  and 
then  I,  on  the  other  hand,  buckled  into  my  sack,  and 
smoking  alone  in  the  pine-woods  between  four  and  five 
thousand  feet  towards  the  stars. 

When  I  awoke  again  (Sunday,  29th  September),  many 

30  of  the  stars  had  disappeared ;  only  the  stronger  com- 
panions of  the  night  still  burned  visibly  overhead ;  and 
away  towards  the  east  I  saw  a  faint  haze  of  light  upon  the 
horizon,  such  as  had  been  the  Milky  Way  when  I  was 
last  awake.     Day  was  at  hand.     I  lit  my  lantern,  and  by 


A  Night  Among  the  Pines  211 

Its  glowworm  light  put  on  my  boots  and  gaiters;  then  I 
broke  up  some  bread  for  Modestine,  filled  my  can  at  the 
water-tap,  and  lit  my  spirit-lamp  to  boil  myself  some 
chocolate.  The  blue  darkness  lay  long  in  the  glade  where 
I  had  so  sweetly  slumbered ;  but  soon  there  was  a  broad  5 
streak  of  orange  melting  into  gold  along  the  mountain- 
tops  of  Vivarais.  A  solemn  glee  possessed  my  mind  at 
this  gradual  and  lovely  coming  in  of  day.  I  heard 
the  runnel  with  delight ;  I  looked  round  me  for  something 
beautiful  and  unexpected ;  but  the  still  black  pine-trees,  10 
the  hollow  glade,  the  munching  ass,  remained  unchanged 
in  figure.  Nothing  had  altered  but  the  light,  and  that, 
indeed,  shed  over  all  a  spirit  of  life  and  of  breathing 
peace,  and  moved  me  to  a  strange  exhilaration. 

I  drank  my  water  chocolate,  which  was  hot  if  it  was  not  15 
rich,  and  strolled  here  and  there,  and  up  and  down  about 
the  glade.  While  I  was  thus  delaying,  a  gush  of  steady 
wind,  as  long  as  a  heavy  sigh,  poured  direct  out  of  the 
quarter  of  the  morning.  It  was  cold,  and  set  me  sneezing. 
The  trees  near  at  hand  tossed  their  black  plumes  in  its  20 
passage ;  and  I  could  see  the  thin  distant  spires  of  pine 
along  the  edge  of  the  hill  rock  slightly  to  and  fro  against 
the  golden  east.  Ten  minutes  after,  the  sunlight  spread 
at  a  gallop  along  the  hillside,  scattering  shadows  and 
sparkles,  and  the  day  had  come  completely.  25 

I  hastened  to  prepare  my  pack,  and  tackle  the  steep 
ascent  that  lay  before  me;  but  I  had  something  on  my 
mind.  It  was  only  a  fancy;  yet  a  fancy  will  sometimes 
be  importunate.  I  had  been  most  hospitably  received 
and  punctually  served  in  my  green  caravanserai.  The  30 
room  was  airy,  the  water  excellent,  and  the  dawn  had 
called  me  to  a  moment.  I  say  nothing  of  the  tapestries 
or  the  inimitable  ceiling,  nor  yet  of  the  view  which  I 
commanded  from  the  windows;  but  I  felt  I  was  in  some 


212  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

one's  debt  for  all  this  liberal  entertainment.  And  so  it 
pleased  me,  in  a  half-laughing  way,  to  leave  pieces  of 
money  on  the  turf  as  I  went  along,  until  I  had  left  enough 
for  my  night's  lodging.  I  trust  they  did  not  fall  to  some 
5  rich  and  churlish  drover. 


THE   COUNTRY   OF  THE   CAMISARDS 

We  traveled  in  the  print  of  olden  wars  ; 
Yet  all  the  land  was  green; 
And  love  we  found,  and  peace. 
Where  fire  and  war  had  been. 

They  pass  and  smile,  the  children  of  the  sword- 
No  more  the  sword  they  wield  • 
And  O  how  deep  the  corn 
Along  the  battlefield ! 

W.  P.  Bannatyne. 


CHAPTER  XI 


ACROSS  THE  LOZERE 


The  track  that  I  had  followed  In  the  evening  soon  died 
out,  and  I  continued  to  follow  over  a  bald  turf  ascent 
a  row  of  stone  pillars,  such  as  had  conducted  me  across 
the  Goulet.  It  was  already  warm.  I  tied  my  jacket  on 
the  pack,  and  walked  in  my  knitted  waistcoat.  Modes-  5 
tine  herself  w^as  in  high  spirits,  and  broke  of  her  own 
accord,  for  the  first  time  in  my  experience,  into  a  jolting 
trot  that  set  the  oats  swashing  In  the  pocket  of  my  coat. 
The  view,  back  upon  the  northern  Gevaudan,  extended 
with  every  step ;  scarce  a  tree,  scarce  a  house,  appeared  10 
upon  the  fields  of  wild  hill  that  ran  north,  east,  and  west, 
all  blue  and  gold  in  the  haze  and  sunlight  of  the  morning. 
A  multitude  of  little  birds  kept  sweeping  and  twittering 
about  my  path ;  they  perched  on  the  stone  pillars,  they 
pecked  and  strutted  on  the  turf,  and  I  saw  them  circle  15 
in  volleys  in  the  blue  air,  and  show,  from  time  to  time, 
translucent  flickering  wings  between  the  sun  and  me. 

Almost  from  the  first  moment  of  my  march,  a  faint 
large  noise,  like  a  distant  surf,  had  filled  my  ears.  Some- 
times I  was  tempted  to  think  It  the  voice  of  a  neighbor-  20 
ing  waterfall,  and  sometimes  a  subjective  result  of  the 
utter  stillness  of  the  hill.  But  as  I  continued  to  advance, 
the  noise  Increased  and  became  like  the  hissing  of  an 
enormous  tea-urn,  and  at  the  same  time  breaths  of  cool 
air  began  to  reach  me  from  the  direction  of  the  summit.  25 
At  length  I  understood.     It  was  blowing  stiffly  from  the 

215 


2i6  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

south  upon  the  other  slope  of  the  Lozere,  and  every  step 
that  I  took  I  was  drawing  nearer  to  the  wind. 

Although  it  had  been  long  desired,  it  was  quite  unex- 
pectedly at  last  that  my  eyes  rose  above  the  summit.  A 
S  step  that  seemed  no  way  more  decisive  than  many  other 
steps  that  had  preceded  it — and,  "  like  stout  Cortez  when, 
with  eagle  eyes,  he  stared  on  the  Pacific,"  I  took  posses- 
sion, in  my  own  name,  of  a  new  quarter  of  the  world. 
For  behold,  instead  of  the  gross  turf  rampant  I  had  been 

10  mounting  for  so  long,  a  view  into  the  hazy  air  of  heaven, 
and  a  land  of  intricate  blue  hills  below  my  feet. 

The  Lozere  lies  nearly  east  and  west,  cutting  Gevaudan 
into  two  unequal  parts;  its  highest  point,  this  Pic  de 
Finiels,  on  which  I  was  then  standing,  rises  upwards  of 

15  five  thousand  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  in  clear 
weather  commands  a  view  over  all  lower  Languedoc  to 
the  Mediterranean  Sea.  I  have  spoken  with  people  who 
either  pretended  or  believed  that  they  had  seen,  from  the 
Pic  de   Finiels,   white  ships  sailing  by   Montpellier  and 

20  Cette.  Behind  was  the  upland  northern  country  through 
which  my  way  had  lain,  peopled  by  a  dull  race,  without 
wood,  without  much  grandeur  of  hill-form,  and  famous 
in  the  past  for  little  beside  wolves.  But  in  front  of  me, 
half  veiled   in   sunny   haze,   lay  a  new   Gevaudan,   rich, 

25  picturesque,  illustrious  for  stirring  events.  Speaking 
largely,  I  was  in  the  Cevennes  at  Monastier,  and  during 
all  my  journey;  but  there  is  a  strict  and  local  sense  in 
which  only  this  confused  and  shaggy^  country-  at  my  feet 
has  any  title  to  the  name,  and  in  this  sense,   the  peas- 

30  antry  employ  the  word.  These  are  the  Cevennes  with  an 
emphasis:  the  Cevennes  of  the  Cevennes.  In  that  un- 
decipherable labyrinth  of  hills,  a  war  of  bandits,  a  war  of 
wild  beasts,  raged  for  two  years  between  the  Grand  Mon- 
arch with  all  his  troops  and  marshals  on  the  one  hand, 


Across  the  Lozere  217 

and  a  few  thousand  Protestant  mountaineers  upon  the 
other.  A  hundred  and  eighty  years  ago,  the  Camisards 
held  a  station  even  on  the  Lozere,  where  I  stood ;  they 
had  an  organization,  arsenals,  a  military  and  religious 
hierarchy ;  their  affairs  were  "  the  discourse  of  every  5 
coffee-house "  in  London ;  England  sent  fleets  in  their 
support ;  their  leaders  prophesied  and  murdered ;  with 
colors  and  drums,  and  the  singing  of  old  French  psalms, 
their  bands  sometimes  affronted  daylight,  marched  before 
walled  cities,  and  dispersed  the  generals  of  the  king;  and  10 
sometimes  at  night,  or  in  masquerade,  possessed  them- 
selves of  strong  castles,  and  avenged  treachery  upon  their 
allies  and  cruelty  upon  their  foes.  There,  a  hundred  and 
eighty  years  ago,  was  the  chivalrous  Roland,  "  Count 
and  Lord  Roland,  generalissimo  of  the  Protestants  in  15 
France,"  grave,  silent,  imperious,  pock-marked,  ex-dragoon, 
whom  a  lady  followed  in  his  wanderings  out  of  love. 
There  was  Cavalier,  a  baker's  apprentice  with  a  genius 
for  war,  elected  brigadier  of  Camisards  at  seventeen,  to 
die  at  fifty-five  the  English  governor  of  Jersey.  There  20 
again  was  Castanet,  a  partizan  leader  in  a  voluminous 
peruke  and  with  a  taste  for  controversial  divinity.  Strange 
generals,  who  moved  apart  to  take  counsel  with  the  God 
of  Hosts,  and  fled  or  offered  battle,  set  sentinels  or  slept 
in  an  unguarded  camp,  as  the  Spirit  whispered  to  their  25 
hearts!  And  there,  to  follow  these  and  other  leaders, 
was  the  rank  and  file  of  prophets  and  disciples,  bold, 
patient,  indefatigable,  hardy  to  run  upon  the  mountains, 
cheering  their  rough  life  with  psalms,  eager  to  fight,  eager 
to  pray,  listening  devoutly  to  the  oracles  of  brainsick  30 
children,  and  mystically  putting  a  grain  of  wheat  among 
the  pewter  balls  with  which  they  charged  their  muskets. 
I  had  traveled  hitherto  through  a  dull  district,  and 
in  the  track  of  nothing  more  notable  than  the  child-eating 


2i8  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

Beast  of  Gevaudan,  the  Napoleon  Buonaparte  of  wolves. 
But  now  I  was  to  go  down  into  the  scene  of  a  romantic 
chapter — or,  better,  a  romantic  footnote — in  the  history 
of  the  world.  What  was  left  of  all  this  bygone  dust  and 
5  heroism  ?  I  was  told  that  Protestantism  still  survived 
in  this  head  seat  of  Protestant  resistance ;  so  much  the 
priest  himself  had  told  me  in  the  monastery  parlor. 
But  I  had  yet  to  learn  if  it  were  a  bare  survival,  or  a  lively 
and   generous  tradition.     Again,   if  In   the  northern   Ce- 

10  vennes  the  people  are  narrow  in  religious  judgments, 
and  more  filled  with  zeal  than  charity,  what  was  I  to  look 
for  in  this  land  of  persecution  and  reprisal — in  a  land 
where  the  tyranny  of  the  Church  produced  the  Camisard 
rebellion,    and    the    terror   of    the    Camisards    threw    the 

15  Catholic  peasantry  into  legalized  revolt  upon  the  other 
side,  so  that  Camisard  and  Florentin  skulked  for  each 
other's  lives  among  the  mountains?     • 

Just  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where  I  paused  to  look 
before  me,  the  series  of  stone  pillars  came  abruptly  to  an 

20  end ;  and  only  a  little  below,  a  sort  of  track  appeared 
and  began  to  go  down  a  breakneck  slope,  turning  like 
a  corkscrew  as  it  went.  It  led  into  a  valley  between 
falling  hills,  stubbly  with  rocks  like  a  reaped  field  of  corn, 
and   floored  further  down  with  green  meadows.     I  fol- 

25  lowed  the  track  with  precipitation ;  the  steepness  of  the 
slope,  the  continual  agile  turning  of  the  line  of  the  descent, 
and  the  old  unwearied  hope  of  finding  something  new  in 
a  new  country,  all  conspired  to  lend  me  wings.  Yet 
a  little  lower  and   a  stream  began,   collecting  itself  to- 

30  gether  out  of  many  fountains,  and  soon  making  a  glad 
noise  among  the  hills.  Sometimes  it  would  cross  the 
track  in  a  bit  of  waterfall,  with  a  pool,  in  which  Mo- 
destine  refreshed  her  feet. 

The  whole  descent  is  like  a  dream  to  me,  so  rapidly  was 


Across  the  Lozere  219 

it  accomplished.  I  had  scarcely  left  the  summit  ere  the 
valley  had  closed  round  iny  path,  and  the  sun  beat  upon 
me,  walking  in  a  stagnant  lowland  atmosphere.  The 
track  became  a  road,  and  went  up  and  down  in  easy  un- 
dulations. I  passed  cabin  after  cabin,  but  all  seemed  5 
deserted ;  and  I  saw  not  a  human  creature,  nor  heard  any 
sound  except  that  of  the  stream.  I  was,  however,  in  a 
different  country  from  the  day  before.  The  stony  skele- 
ton of  the  world  was  here  vigorously  displayed  to  sun 
and  air.  The  slopes  were  steep  and  changeful.  Oak-  10 
trees  clung  along  the  hills,  well  grown,  wealthy  in  leaf, 
and  touched  by  the  autumn  with  strong  and  luminous 
colors.  Here  and  there  another  stream  would  fall  in 
from  the  right  or  the  left,  down  a  gorge  of  snow-white 
and  tumultuary  boulders.  The  river  in  the  bottom  (for  15 
it  was  rapidly  growing  a  river,  collecting  on  all  hands 
as  it  trotted  on  its  way)  here  foamed  awhile  in  desperate 
rapids,  and  there  lay  in  pools  of  the  most  enchanting  sea- 
green  shot  with  watery  browns.  As  far  as  I  have  gone, 
I  have  never  seen  a  river  of  so  changeful  and  delicate  a  20 
hue;  crystal  was  not  more  clear,  the  meadows  were  not 
by  half  so  green ;  and  at  every  pool  I  saw  I  felt  a  thrill 
of  longing  to  be  out  of  these  hot,  dusty,  and  material 
garments,  and  bathe  my  naked  body  in  the  mountain  air 
and  water.  All  the  time  as  I  went  on  I  never  forgot  it  25 
was  the  Sabbath;  the  stillness  was  a  perpetual  reminder; 
and  I  heard  in  spirit  the  church-bells  clamoring  all  over 
Europe,  and  the  psalms  of  a  thousand  churches. 

At  length  a  human  sound  struck  upon  my  ear — a  cry 
strangely  modulated  between  pathos  and  derision;  and  30 
looking  across  the  valley,  I  saw  a  little  urchin  sitting  in 
a  meadow,  with  his  hands  about  his  knees,  and  dwarfed 
to  almost  comical  smallness  by  the  distance.  But  the 
rogue  had  picked  me  out  as  I  went  down  the  road,  from 


220  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

oak-wood  on  to  oak-wood,  driving  Modestine ;  and  he 
made  me  the  compliments  of  the  new  country  in  this 
tremulous  high-pitched  salutation.  And  as  all  noises  are 
lovely  and  natural  at  a  sufficient  distance,  this  also,  com- 
5  ing  through  so  much  clean  hill  air  and  crossing  all  the 
green  valley,  sounded  pleasant  to  my  ear,  and  seemed 
a  thing  rustic,  like  the  oaks  or  the  river. 

A  little  after,  the  stream  that  I  was  following  fell  into 
the  Tarn  at  Pont  de  Montvert  of  bloody  memory. 


CHAPTER  XII 


PONT   DE    MONTVERT 


One  of  the  first  things  I  encountered  in  Pont  de  Mont- 
vert  was,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  Protestant  temple ; 
but  this  was  but  the  type  of  other  novelties.  A  subtle 
atmosphere  distinguishes  a  town  in  England  from  a  town 
in  France,  or  even  in  Scotland.  At  Carlisle  you  can  see  5 
you  are  in  one  country ;  at  Dumfries,  thirty  miles  away, 
you  are  sure  that  you  are  in  the  other.  I  should  find  it 
difficult  to  tell  in  what  particulars  Pont  de  Montvert  dif- 
fered from  Monastier  or  Langogne,  or  even  Bleymard ;  but 
the  difference  existed,  and  spoke  eloquently  to  the  eyes.  10 
The  place,  with  its  houses,  its  lanes,  its  glaring  river-bed, 
wore  an  indescribable  air  of  the  South. 

All  was  Sunday  bustle  in  the  streets  and  in  the  public- 
house,  as  all  had  been  Sabbath  peace  among  the  moun- 
tains.    There  must  have  been  near  a  score  of  us  at  dinner  15 
by  eleven  before  noon ;  and  after  I  had  eaten  and  drunken, 
and  sat  writing  up  my  journal,  I  suppose  as  many  more 
came  dropping  in  one  after  another,  or  by  twos  and  threes. 
In  crossing  the  Lozere  I  had  not  only  come  among  new 
natural  features,  but  moved  into  the  territory  of  a  different  20 
race.     These  people,   as  they   hurriedly  despatched   their 
viands  in  an  intricate  sword-play  of  knives,  questioned  and 
answered  me  with  a  degree  of  intelligence  which  excelled 
all   that   I    had   met,   except   among  the   railway  folk  at 
Chasserades.     They  had  open  telling  faces,  and  they  were  25 
lively  both  in  speech  and  manner.    They  not  only  entered 

321 


2  22  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

thoroughly  Into  the  spirit  of  my  little  trip,  but  more  than 
one  declared,  if  he  were  rich  enough,  he  would  like  to  set 
forth  on  such  another. 

Even  physically  there  was  a  pleasant  change.     I  had 

5  not  seen  a  pretty  woman  since  I  left  Monastier,  and  there 
but  one.  Now  of  the  three  who  sat  down  with  me  to 
dinner,  one  was  certainly  not  beautiful — a  poor  timid 
thing  of  forty,  quite  troubled  at  this  roaring  table  d'hote, 
whom  I  squired  and  helped  to  wine,  and  pledged  and  tried 

10  generally  to  encourage,  with  quite  a  contrary  effect ;  but 
the  other  two,  both  married,  were  both  more  handsome 
than  the  average  of  women.  And  Clarisse?  What  shall 
I  say  of  Clarisse?  She  waited  the  table  with  a  heavy 
placable  nonchalance,   like  a  performing  cow;  her  great 

15  gray  eyes  were  steeped  in  amorous  languor;  her  features, 
although  fleshy,  were  of  an  original  and  accurate  design ; 
her  mouth  had  a  curl;  her  nostril  spoke  of  dainty  pride; 
her  cheek  fell  into  strange  and  interesting  lines.  It  was 
a  face  capable  of  strong  emotion,  and,  with  training,   it 

20  offered  the  promise  of  delicate  sentiment.  It  seemed  piti- 
ful to  see  so  good  a  model  left  to  country  admirers  and  a 
country  way  of  thought.  Beauty  should  at  least  have 
touched  society;  then,  in  a  moment,  it  throws  off  a  weight 
that  lay  upon  it,  it  becomes  conscious  of  itself,  it  puts  on 

25  an  elegance,  learns  a  gait  and  a  carriage  of  the  head,  and, 
in  a  moment,  patet  dea.  Before  I  left  I  assured  Clarisse  of 
my  hearty  admiration.  She  took  it  like  milk,  without 
embarrassment  or  wonder,  merely  looking  at  me  steadily 
with  her  great  eyes;  and  I  own  the  result  upon  myself 

30  was  some  confusion.  If  Clarisse  could  read  English,  I 
should  not  dare  to  add  that  her  figure  was  unworthy  of 
her  face.  Hers  was  a  case  for  stays;  but  that  may  per- 
haps grow  better  as  she  gets  up  in  years. 

Pont  de  Montvert,  or  Greenhill  Bridge,  as  we  might 


Pont  de  Montvert  223 

say  at  home,  is  a  place  memorable  in  the  story  of  the 
Camisards.  It  was  here  that  the  war  broke  out ;  here  that 
those  southern  Covenanters  slew  their  Archbishop  Sharpe. 
The  persecution  on  the  one  hand,  the  febrile  enthusiasm 
on  the  other,  are  almost  equally  difficult  to  understand  in  5 
these  quiet  modern  days,  and  with  our  easy  modern  be- 
liefs and  disbeliefs.  The  Protestants  were  one  and  all 
beside  their  right  minds  with  zeal  and  sorrow.  They  were 
all  prophets  and  prophetesses.  Children  at  the  breast 
would  exhort  their  parents  to  good  works.  "A  child  of  10 
fifteen  months  at  Quissac  spoke  from  its  mother's  arms, 
agitated  and  sobbing,  distinctly  and  with  a  loud  voice." 
Marshal  Villars  has  seen  a  town  where  all  the  women 
"seemed  possessed  by  the  devil,"  and  had  trembling  fits, 
and  uttered  prophecies  publicly  upon  the  streets.  A  15 
prophetess  of  Vivarais  was  hanged  at  Montpellier  because 
blood  flowed  from  her  eyes  and  nose,  and  she  declared  that 
she  was  weeping  tears  of  blood  for  the  misfortunes  of  the 
Protestants.  And  it  was  not  only  women  and  children. 
Stalwart  dangerous  fellows,  used  to  swing  the  sickle  or  to  20 
wield  the  forest  ax,  were  likewise  shaken  with  strange 
paroxysms,  and  spoke  oracles  with  sobs  and  streaming 
tears.  A  persecution  unsurpassed  in  violence  had  lasted 
near  a  score  of  years,  and  this  was  the  result  upon  the  per- 
secuted;  hanging,  burning,  breaking  on  the  wheel,  had  25 
been  in  vain ;  the  dragoons  had  left  their  hoof-marks  over 
all  the  country-side;  there  were  men  rowing  the  galleys, 
and  women  pining  in  the  prisons  of  the  Church ;  and 
not  a  thought  was  changed  in  the  heart  of  any  upright 
Protestant.  30 

Now  the  head  and  forefront  of  the  persecution — after 
Lamoignon  de  Bavile — Frangois  de  Langlade  du  Chayla 
(pronounced  Chei'la),  Arciipricst  of  the  Cevennes  and  In- 
-spector  of  Missions  in  the  same  country,  had  a  house  in 


224  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

which  he  sometimes  dwelt  in  the  town  of  Pont  de  Mont- 
vert.  He  was  a  conscientious  person,  who  seems  to  have 
been  intended  by  nature  for  a  pirate,  and  now  fifty-five, 
an  age  by  which  a  man  has  learned  all  the  moderation  of 

5  which  he  is  capable.  A  missionary  in  his  youth  in  China, 
he  there  suffered  martyrdom,  was  left  for  dead,  and  only 
succored  and  brought  back  to  life  by  the  charity  of  a 
pariah.  We  must  suppose  the  pariah  devoid  of  second 
sight,  and  not  purposely  malicious  in  this  act.     Such  an 

10  experience,  it  might  be  thought,  would  have  cured  a  man 
of  the  desire  to  persecute;  but  the  human  spirit  is  a  thing 
strangely  put  together;  and,  having  been  a  Christian 
martyr,  Du  Chayla  became  a  Christian  persecutor.  The 
Work   of   the   Propagation    of   the   Faith   went   roundly 

15  forward  in  his  hands.  His  house  in  Pont  du  Montvert 
served  him  as  a  prison.  There  he  plucked  out  the  hairs 
of  the  beard,  and  closed  the  hands  of  his  prisoners  upon 
live  coal,  to  convince  them  that  they  were  deceived  in  their 
opinions.     And  yet  had  not  he  himself  tried  and  proved 

20  the  inefficacy  of  these  carnal  arguments  among  the  Boodh- 
ists  in   China? 

Not  only  was  life  made  intolerable  in  Languedoc,  but 
flight  was  rigidly  forbidden.  One  Massip,  a  muleteer,  and 
well    acquainted    with    the    mountain-paths,    had    already 

25  guided  several  troops  of  fugitives  in  safety  to  Geneva ; 
and  on  him,  with  another  convoy,  consisting  mostly  of 
women  dressed  as  men,  Du  Chayla,  in  an  evil  hour  for 
himself,  laid  his  hands.  The  Sunday  following,  there  was 
a  conventicle  of  Protestants  in  the  woods  of  Altefage  upon 

30  Mount  Bouges;  where  there  stood  up  one  Seguier — Spirit 
Seguier,  as  his  companions  called  him — a  wool-carder, 
tall,  black-faced,  and  toothless,  but  a  man  full  of  prophecy. 
He  declared,  in  the  name  of  God,  that  the  time  for  sub- 
mission had  gone  by,  and  they  must  betake  themselves  to 


Pont  de  Montvert  225 

arms  for  the  deliverance  of  their  brethren  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  priests. 

The  next  night,  24th  July,  1702,  a  sound  disturbed 
the  Inspector  of  Missions  as  he  sat  in  his  prison-house  at 
Pont  de  Montvert;  the  voices  of  many  men  upraised  in  5 
psalmody  drew  nearer  and  nearer  through  the  town.  It 
was  ten  at  night;  he  had  his  court  about  him,  priests, 
soldiers,  and  servants,  to  the  number  of  twelve  or  fifteen, 
and  now  dreading  the  insolence  of  a  conventicle  below 
his  very  windows,  he  ordered  forth  his  soldiers  to  report.  10 
But  the  psalm-singers  were  already  at  his  door,  fifty 
strong,  led  by  the  inspired  Seguier,  and  breathing  death. 
To  their  summons,  the  archpriest  made  answer  like  a 
stout  old  persecutor,  and  bade  his  garrison  fire  upon  the 
mob.  One  Camisard  (for,  according  to  some,  it  was  in  15 
this  night's  work  that  they  came  by  the  name)  fell  at  this 
discharge ;  his  comrades  burst  in  the  door  with  hatchets 
and  a  beam  of  wood,  overran  the  lower  story  of  the  house, 
set  free  the  prisoners,  and  finding  one  of  them  in  the  vine, 
a  sort  of  Scavenger's  Daughter  of  the  place  and  period,  20 
redoubled  in  fury  against  Du  Chayla,  and  sought  by  re- 
peated assaults  to  carry  the  upper  floors.  But  he,  on  his 
side,  had  given  absolution  to  his  men,  and  they  bravely 
held  the  staircase. 

"  Children   of   God,"   cried    the   prophet,    "  hold    your  25 
hands.     Let  us  burn  the  house,  with  the  priest  and   the 
satellites  of  Baal." 

The  fire  caught  readily.  Out  of  an  upper  window 
Du  Chayla  and  his  men  lowered  themselves  into  the 
garden  by  means  of  knotted  sheets;  some  escaped  across  30 
the  river  under  the  bullets  of  the  insurgents ;  but  the  arch- 
priest  himself  fell,  broke  his  thigh,  and  could  only  crawl 
into  the  hedge.  What  were  his  reflections  as  this  second 
martyrdom  drew  near?     A  poor  brave,  besotted,  hateful 


2  26  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

man,  who  had  done  his  duty  resolutely  according  to  his 
light  both  in  the  Cevennes  and  China.  He  found  at  least 
one  telling  word  to  say  in  his  defence;  for  when  the  roof 
fell  in  and  the  upbursting  flames  discovered  his  retreat, 

S  and  they  came  and  dragged  him  to  the  public  place  of 
the  town,  raging  and  calling  him  damned — "If  I  be 
damned,"  said  he,  "  why  should  you  also  damn  your- 
selves? " 

Here  was  a  good  reason  for  the  last;  but  in  the  course 

10  of  his  inspectorship  he  had  given  many  stronger  which  all 
told  in  a  contrary  direction ;  and  these  he  was  now  to 
hear.  One  by  one,  Seguier  first,  the  Camisards  drew  near 
and  stabbed  him.  "  This,"  they  said,  "  is  for  my  father 
broken  on  the  wheel.    This  for  my  brother  in  the  galleys. 

15  That  for  my  mother  or  my  sister  imprisoned  in  your  cursed 
convents."  Each  gave  his  blow  and  his  reason ;  and 
then  all  kneeled  and  sang  psalms  around  the  body  till  the 
dawn.  With  the  dawn,  still  singing,  they  defiled  away 
towards  Frugeres,   further  up   the  Tarn,   to   pursue   the 

20  work  of  vengeance,  leaving  Du  Chayla's  prison  house  in 
ruins,  and  his  body  pierced  with  two-and-fifty  wounds 
upon  the  public  place. 

'Tis  a  wild  night's  work,  with  its  accompaniment  of 
psalms;  and  it  seems  as  if  a  psalm  must  always  have  a 

25  sound  of  threatening  in  that  town  upon  the  Tarn.  But 
the  story  does  not  end,  even  so  far  as  concerns  Pont  du 
Montvert,  with  the  departure  of  the  Camisards.  The 
career  of  Seguier  was  brief  and  bloody.  Two  more  priests 
and  a  whole  family  at  Ladeveze,  from  the  father  to  the 

30  servants,  fell  by  his  hand  or  by  his  orders ;  and  yet  he  was 
but  a  day  or  two  at  large,  and  restrained  all  the  time  by 
the  presence  of  the  soldiery.  Taken  at  length  by  a  famous 
soldier  of  fortune.  Captain  Poul,  he  appeared  unmoved 
before  his  judges. 


Pont  de  Montvert 


227 


"Your  name?"   they  asked. 
"  Pierre  Seguier." 
"Why  are  you  called  Spirit?" 
"  Because  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  with  me." 
"Your  domicile?"  S 

"  Lately  in  the  desert,  and  soon  in  heaven." 
"Have  you   no   remorse   for   your   crimes?" 
"  I  have  committed  none.    My  soul  is  like  a  garden  full 
of  shelter  and  of  fountains." 

At  Pont  de  Montvert,  on  the  12th  of  August,  he  had  10 
his  right  hand  stricken  from  his  body,  and  was  burned 
alive.  And  his  soul  was  like  a  garden?  So  perhaps  was 
the  soul  of  Du  Chayla,  the  Christian  martyr.  And  per- 
haps if  you  could  read  in  my  soul,  or  I  could  read  in  yours, 
our  own  composure  might  seem  little  less  surprising.  15 

Du  Chayla's  house  still  stands,  with  a  new  roof,  be- 
side one  of  the  bridges  of  the  town ;  and  if  you  are  curious 
you  may  see  the  terrace-garden  into  which  he  dropped. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TARN 

A  NEW  road  leads  from  Pont  de  Montvert  to  Florae 
by  the  valley  of  the  Tarn ;  a  smooth  sandy  ledge,  it  runs 
about  half-way  between  the  summit  of  the  cliffs  and  the 
river  in  the  bottom  of  the  valley ;  and  I  went  in  and  out, 

5  as  I  followed  it,  from  bays  of  shadow  into  promontories 
of  afternoon  sun.  This  was  a  pass  like  that  of  Killie- 
crankie;  a  deep  turning  gully  in  the  hills,  with  the  Tarn 
making  a  wonderful  hoarse  uproar  far  below,  and  craggy 
summits  standing  in   the  sunshine  high   above.     A   thin 

10  fringe  of  ash-trees  ran  about  the  hill-tops,  like  ivy  on  a 
ruin ;  but  on  the  lower  slopes,  and  far  up  every  glen,  the 
Spanish  chestnut-trees  stood  each  four-square  to  heaven 
under  its  tented  foliage.  Some  were  planted,  each  on  its 
own  terrace  no  larger  than  a  bed ;  some,  trusting  in  their 

15  roots,  found  strength  to  grow  and  prosper  and  be  straight 
and  large  upon  the  rapid  slopes  of  the  valley;  others, 
where  there  was  a  margin  to  the  river,  stood  marshaled 
in  a  line  and  mighty  like  cedars  of  Lebanon.  Yet  even 
where  they  grew  most  thickly  they  were  not  to  be  thought 

20  of  as  a  wood,  but  as  a  herd  of  stalwart  individuals ;  and 
the  dome  of  each  tree  stood  forth  separate  and  large,  and 
as  it  were  a  little  hill,  from  among  the  domes  of  its 
companions.  They  gave  forth  a  faint  sweet  perfume 
which  pervaded  the  air  of  the  afternoon ;  autumn  had  put 

25  tints  of  gold  and  tarnish  in  the  green ;  and  the  sun  so 
shone  through  and  kindled  the  broad  foliage,  that  each 

228 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn  229 

chestnut  was  relieved  against  another,  not  in  shadow,  but 
in  light.  A  humble  sketcher  here  laid  down  his  pencil  in 
despair. 

I  wish  I  could  convey  a  notion  of  the  growth  of  these 
noble  trees;  of  how  they  strike  out  boughs  like  the  oak,  5 
and  trail  sprays  of  drooping  foliage  like  the  willow ;  of 
how  they  stand  on  upright  fluted  columns  like  the  pillars 
of  a  church ;  or  like  the  olive,  from  the  most  shattered  bole, 
can  put  out  smooth  and  youthful  shoots,  and  begin  a  new 
life  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old.  Thus  they  partake  of  10 
the  nature  of  many  different  trees;  and  even  their  prickly 
topknots,  seen  near  at  hand  against  the  sky,  have  a  cer- 
tain palm-like  air  that  impresses  the  imagination.  But 
their  individuality,  although  compounded  of  so  many  ele- 
ments, is  but  the  richer  and  the  more  original.  And  to  15 
look  down  upon  a  level  filled  with  these  knolls  of  foliage, 
or  to  see  a  clan  of  old  unconquerable  chestnuts  cluster 
"like  herded  elephants"  upon  the  spur  of  a  mountain,  is 
to  rise  to  higher  thoughts  of  the  powers  that  are  in  Nature. 

Between  Modestine's  laggard  humor  and  the  beauty  20 
of  the  scene,  we  made  little  progress  all  that  afternoon; 
and  at  last  finding  the  sun,  although  still  far  from  setting, 
was  already  beginning  to  desert  the  narrow  valley  of  the 
Tarn,  I  began  to  cast  about  for  a  place  to  camp  in.  This 
was  not  easy  to  find ;  the  terraces  were  too  narrow,  and  25 
the  ground,  where  it  was  unterraced,  was  usually  too 
steep  for  a  man  to  lie  upon.  I  should  have  slipped  all 
night,  and  awakened  towards  morning  with  my  feet  or 
my  head  in  the  river. 

After  perhaps  a  mile,  I  saw,  some  sixty  feet  above  the  30 
road,  a  little  plateau  large  enough  to  hold  my  sack,  and 
securely  parapeted  by  the  trunk  of  an  aged  and  enormous 
chestnut.     Thither,   with   infinite  trouble,   I  goaded  and 
kicked  the  reluctant  Modestine,  and  there  I  hastened  to 


230  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

unload  her.  There  was  only  room  for  myself  upon  the 
plateau,  and  I  had  to  go  nearly  as  high  again  before  I 
found  so  much  as  standing  room  for  the  ass.  It  was  on  a 
heap  of  rolling  stones,  on  an  artificial  terrace,  certainly 
5  not  five  feet  square  in  all.  Here  I  tied  her  to  a  chestnut, 
and  having  given  her  corn  and  bread  and  made  a  pile  of 
chestnut  leaves,  of  which  I  found  her  greedy,  I  descended 
once  more  to  my  own  encampment. 

The  position  was  unpleasantly  exposed.     One  or  two 

10  carts  went  by  upon  the  road ;  and  as  long  as  daylight  lasted 
I  concealed  myself,  for  all  the  world  like  a  hunted  Cami- 
sard,  behind  my  fortification  of  vast  chestnut  trunk ;  for 
I  was  passionately  afraid  of  discovery  and  the  visit  of 
jocular  persons  in   the  night.     Moreover,   I   saw   that   I 

15  must  be  early  awake ;  for  these  chestnut  gardens  had  been 
the  scene  of  industry  no  farther  gone  than  on  the  day 
before.  The  slope  was  strewn  with  lopped  branches,  and 
here  and  there  a  great  package  of  leaves  was  propped 
against  a  trunk ;  for  even  the  leaves  are  serviceable,  and 

20  the  peasants  use  them  in  winter  by  way  of  fodder  for 
their  animals.  I  picked  a  meal  in  fear  and  trembling,  half 
lying  down  to  hide  myself  from  the  road ;  and  I  daresay 
I  was  as  much  concerned  as  if  I  had  been  a  scout  from 
Joani's  band  above  upon  the  Lozere,  or  from  Salomon's 

25  across  the  Tarn,  in  the  old  times  of  psalm-singing  and 
blood.  Or,  indeed,  perhaps  more;  for  the  Camisards  had 
a  remarkable  confidence  in  God ;  and  a  tale  comes  back 
into  my  memory  of  how  the  Count  of  Gevaudan,  riding 
with  a  party  of  dragoons  and  a  notary  at  his  saddlebow 

30  to  enforce  the  oath  of  fidelity  in  all  the  country  hamlets, 
entered  a  valley  in  the  woods,  and  found  Cavalier  and  his 
men  at  dinner,  gaily  seated  on  the  grass,  and  their  hats 
crowned  with  box-tree  garlands,  while  fifteen  women 
washed  their  linen  in  the  stream.     Such  was  a  field  festi- 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn  231 

val  in    1703;   at   that   date   Antony  Watteau   would   be 
painting  similar  subjects. 

This  was  a  very  different  camp  from  that  of  the  night 
before  in  the  cool  and  silent  pine-woods.  It  was  warm 
and  even  stifling  in  the  valley.  The  shrill  song  of  frogs,  5 
like  the  tremolo  note  of  a  whistle  with  a  pea  in  it,  rang  up 
from  the  riverside  before  the  sun  was  down.  In  the  grow- 
ing dusk,  faint  rustlings  began  to  run  to  and  fro  among  the 
fallen  leaves;  from  time  to  time  a  faint  chirping  or  cheep- 
ing noise  would  fall  upon  my  ear;  and  from  time  to  time  10 
I  thought  I  could  see  the  movement  of  something  swift 
and  indistinct  between  the  chestnuts.  A  profusion  of 
large  ants  swarmed  upon  the  ground ;  bats  whisked  by, 
and  mosquitoes  droned  overhead.  The  long  boughs  with 
their  bunches  of  leaves  hung  against  the  sky  like  garlands ;  15 
and  those  immediately  above  and  around  me  had  somewhat 
the  air  of  a  trellis  which  should  have  been  wrecked  and 
half  overthrown  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

Sleep  for  a  long  time  fled  my  eyelids;  and  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  quiet  stealing  over  my  limbs,  and  settling  20 
densely  on  my  mind,  a  noise  at  my  head  startled  me 
broad  awake  again,  and,  I  will  frankly  confess  it,  brought 
my  heart  into  my  mouth.  It  was  such  a  noise  as  a  person 
would  make  scratching  loudly  with  a  finger-nail,  it  came 
from  under  the  knapsack  which  served  me  for  a  pillow,  25 
and  it  was  thrice  repeated  before  I  had  time  to  sit  up  and 
turn  about.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen,  nothing  more  was  to 
be  heard,  but  a  few  of  these  mysterious  rustlings  far  and 
near,  and  the  ceaseless  accompaniment  of  the  river  and  the 
frogs.  I  learned  next  day  that  the  chestnut  gardens  are  30 
infested  by  rats;  rustling,  chirping,  and  scraping  were 
probably  all  due  to  these ;  but  the  puzzle,  for  the  moment, 
was  insoluble,  and  I  had  to  compose  myself  for  sleep,  as 
best  I  could,  in  wondering  uncertainty  about  my  neighbors. 


232  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

I  was  awakened  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  (Monday, 
30th  September)  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  not  far  off  upon 
the  stones,  and  opening  my  eyes,  I  beheld  a  peasant  going 
by  among   the   chestnuts  by   a   footpath   that   I    had   not 

5  hitherto  observed.  He  turned  his  head  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  and  disappeared  in  a  few  strides 
among  the  foliage.  Here  was  an  escape!  But  it  was 
plainly  more  than  time  to  be  moving.  The  peasantry  were 
abroad;    scarce    less    terrible    to    me    in    my    nondescript 

10  position  than  the  soldiers  of  Captain  Poul  to  an  undaunted 
Camisard.  I  fed  Modestine  with  what  haste  I  could ;  but 
as  I  was  returning  to  my  sack,  I  saw  a  man  and  a  boy 
come  down  the  hillside  in  a  direction  crossing  mine.  They 
unintelligibly  hailed  me,  and  I  replied  with  inarticulate 

15  but  cheerful  sounds,  and  hurried  forward  to  get  into  my 
gaiters. 

The  pair,  who  seemed  to  be  father  and  son,  came 
slowly  up  to  the  plateau,  and  stood  close  beside  me  for 
some  time  in  silence.    The  bed  was  open,  and  I  saw  with 

20  regret  my  revolver  lying  patently  disclosed  on  the  blue 
wool.     At  last,  after  they  had  looked  me  all  over,  and 
the  silence  had  grown  laughably  embarrassing,  the  man 
demanded  in  what  seemed  unfriendly  tones: 
"  You  have  slept  here  ?  " 

25      "Yes,"  said  I.     "As  you  see." 
"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  My  faith,"   I   answered   lightly,   "  I  was  tired." 
He  next  inquired  where  I  was  going  and  what  I  had 
had   for  dinner;  and   then,  without  the  least  transition, 

30  "  C'est  hien,"  he  added,  "  come  along."  And  he  and  his 
son,  without  another  word,  turned  off  to  the  next  chest- 
nut-tree but  one,  which  they  set  to  pruning.  The  thing 
had  passed  off  more  simply  than  I  hoped.  He  was  a 
grave  respectable  man;  and  his  unfriendly  voice  did  not 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn  233 

Imply  that  he  thought  he  was  speaking  to  a  criminal,  but 
merely  to  an  inferior. 

I  was  soon  on  the  road,  nibbling  a  cake  of  chocolate 
and  seriously  occupied  with  a  case  of  conscience.  Was  I 
to  pay  for  my  night's  lodging?  I  had  slept  ill,  the  bed  was  S 
full  of  fleas  in  the  shape  of  ants,  there  was  no  water  in 
the  room,  the  very  dawn  had  neglected  to  call  me  in  the 
morning.  I  might  have  missed  a  train,  had  there  been 
any  in  the  neighborhood  to  catch.  Clearly,  I  was  dis- 
satisfied with  my  entertainment ;  and  I  decided  I  should  10 
not  pay  unless  I  met  a  beggar. 

The  valley  looked  even  lovelier  by  morning;  and  soon 
the  road  descended  to  the  level  of  the  river.  Here,  in  a 
place  where  many  straight  and  prosperous  chestnuts  stood 
together,  making  an  aisle  upon  a  swarded  terrace,  I  made  15 
my  morning  toilet  in  the  water  of  the  Tarn.  It  was 
marvelously  clear,  thrillingly  cool ;  the  soapsuds  disap- 
peared as  if  by  magic  in  the  swift  current,  and  the  white 
boulders  gave  one  a  model  for  cleanliness.  To  wash  in  one 
of  God's  rivers  in  the  open  air  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  cheer-  20 
ful  solemnity  or  semi-pagan  act  of  worship.  To  dabble 
among  dishes  in  a  bed-room  may  perhaps  make  clean  the 
body;  but  the  imagination  takes  no  share  in  such  a  cleans- 
ing. I  went  on  with  a  light  and  peaceful  heart,  and 
sang  psalms  to  the  Spiritual  ear  as  I  advanced.  25 

Suddenly   up   came   an   old   woman,    who    point-blank 
demanded  alms. 

"Good,"  thought  I;  "here  comes  the  waiter  with  the 
bill." 

And  I  paid  for  my  night's  lodging  on  the  spot.     Take  30 
it  how  you   please,   but   this  was  the  first  and   the  last 
beggar  that  I  met  with  during  all  my  tour. 

A  step  or  two  farther  I  was  overtaken  by  an  old  man 
in  a  brown  nightcap,  clear-eyed,  weather-beaten,  with  a 


234  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

faint  excited  smile.  A  little  girl  followed  him,  driving 
two  sheep  and  la  goat ;  but  she  kept  in  our  wake,  while  the 
old  man  walked  beside  me  and  talked  about  the  morning 
and  the  valley.  It  was  not  much  past  six;  and  for  healthy 
5  people  who  have  slept  enough,  that  is  an  hour  of  expan- 
sion and  of  open  and  trustful  talk. 

"  Connaissez-vous  le  Seigneur?"  he  said  at  length. 

I  asked  him  what  Seigneur  he  meant ;  but  he  only 
repeated  the  question  with  more  emphasis  and  a  look  in 
ID  his  eyes  denoting  hope  and  interest. 

"Ah,"  said  I,  pointing  upwards,  "I  understand  you 
now.    Yes,  I  know  Him;  He  is  the  best  of  acquaintances." 

The  old  man  said  he  was  delighted.    "  Hold,"  he  added, 

striking  his  bosom;  "it  makes  me  happy  here."     There 

15  were  a  few  who  knew  the  Lord  in  these  valleys,  he  went 

on  to  tell  me ;  not  many,  but  a  few.     "  ]VIany  are  called," 

he  quoted,  "  and  few  chosen." 

"  My  father,"  said  I,  "it  is  not  easy  to  say  who  know 

the   Lord;   and  it  is  none  of  our  business.     Protestants 

20  and  Catholics,  and  even  those  who  worship  stones,  may 

know  Him  and  be  known  by  Him;  for  He  has  made  all." 

I  did  not  know  I  was  so  good  a  preacher. 

The  old  man  assured  me  he  thought  as  I  did,  and  re- 
peated his  expressions  of  pleasure  at  meeting  me.  "  We 
25  are  so  few,"  he  said.  "They  call  us  Moravians  here; 
but  down  in  the  department  of  Gard,  where  there  are  also 
a  good  number,  they  are  called  Derbists,  after  an  Eng- 
lish pastor." 

I  began  to  understand  that  I  was  figuring,  in  question- 
30  able  taste,  as  a  member  of  some  sect  to  me  unknown ; 
but  I  was  more  pleased  with  the  pleasure  of  my  companion 
than  embarrassed  by  my  own  equivocal  position.  Indeed 
I  can  see  no  dishonesty  in  not  avowing  a  difference;  and 
especially  in  these  high  matters,  where  we  have  all  a  suffi- 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn  235 

cient  assurance  that,  whoever  may  be  in  the  wrong,  we 
ourselves  are  not  completely  in  the  right.  The  truth  is 
much  talked  about;  but  this  old  man  in  a  brown  night- 
cap showed  himself  so  simple,  sweet,  and  friendly  that  I 
am  not  unwilling  to  profess  myself  his  convert.  He  was,  5 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  Plymouth  Brother.  Of  what  that 
involves  in  the  way  of  doctrine  I  have  no  idea  nor  the 
time  to  inform  myself;  but  I  know  right  well  that  we  are 
all  embarked  upon  a  troublesome  world,  the  children  of 
one  Father,  striving  in  many  essential  points  to  do  and  10 
to  become  the  same.  And  although  it  was  somewhat  in 
a  mistake  that  he  shook  hands  with  me  so  often  and 
showed  himself  so  ready  to  receive  my  words,  that  was  a 
mistake  of  the  truth-finding  sort.  For  charity  begins 
blindfold ;  and  only  through  a  series  of  similar  misap-  15 
prehensions  rises  at  length  into  a  settled  principle  of 
love  and  patience,  and  a  firm  belief  in  all  our  fellowmen. 
If  I  deceived  this  good  old  man,  in  the  like  manner  I 
would  willingly  go  on  to  deceive  others.  And  if  ever  at 
length,  out  of  our  separate  and  sad  ways,  we  should  all  20 
come  together  into  one  common  house,  I  have  a  hope,  to 
which  I  cling  dearly,  that  my  mountain  Plymouth  Brother 
will  hasten  to  shake  hands  with  me  again. 

Thus,  talking  like  Christian  and  Faithful  by  the  way, 
he  and  I  came  down  upon  a  hamlet  by  the  Tarn.  It  25 
was  but  a  humble  place,  called  La  Vernede,  with  less  than 
a  dozen  houses,  and  a  Protestant  chapel  on  a  knoll. 
Here  he  dwelt;  and  here,  at  the  inn,  I  ordered  my  break- 
fast. The  inn  was  kept  by  an  agreeable  young  man,  a 
stonebreaker  on  the  road,  and  his  sister,  a  pretty  and  30 
engaging  girl.  The  village  schoolmaster  dropped  in  to 
speak  with  the  stranger.  And  these  were  all  Protestants 
— a  fact  which  pleased  me  more  than  I  should  have  ex- 
pected ;  and,  what  pleased  me  still  more,  they  seemed  all 


236  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

upright  and  simple  people.  The  Plymouth  Brother  hung 
round  me  with  a  sort  of  yearning  interest,  and  returned  at 
least  thrice  to  make  sure  I  was  enjoying  my  meal.  His 
behavior  touched  me  deeply  at  the  time,  and  even  now 
5  moves  me  in  recollection.  He  feared  to  intrude,  but  he 
would  not  willingly  forego  one  moment  of  my  society ; 
and  he  seemed  never  weary  of  shaking  me  by  the  hand. 

When  all  the  rest  had  drifted  off  to  their  day's  work, 
I  sat  for  near  half  an  hour  with  the  young  mistress  of  the 

10  house,  who  talked  pleasantly  over  her  seam  of  the  chestnut 
harvest,  and  the  beauties  of  the  Tarn,  and  old  family 
affections,  broken  up  when  young  folk  go  from  home, 
yet  still  subsisting.  Hers,  I  am  sure,  was  a  sweet  nature, 
with  a  country  plainness  and  much  delicacy  underneath ; 

15  and  he  who  takes  her  to  his  heart  will  doubtless  be  a 
fortunate  young  man. 

The  valley  below  La  Vernede  pleased  me  more  and 
more  as  I  went  forward.  Now  the  hills  approached  from 
either  hand,  naked  and  crumbling,  and  walled  in  the  river 

20  between  cliffs ;  and  now  the  valley  widened  and  became 
green.  The  road  led  me  past  the  old  castle  of  Miral  on  a 
steep ;  past  a  battlemented  monastery,  long  since  broken 
up  and  turned  into  a  church  and  parsonage;  and  past  a 
cluster   of    black    roofs,    the    village   of    Cocures,    sitting 

25  among  vineyards  and  meadows  and  orchards  thick  with 
red  apples,  and  where,  along  the  highway,  they  were 
knocking  down  walnuts  from  the  roadside  trees,  and 
gathering  them  in  sacks  and  baskets.  The  hills,  however 
much  the  vale  might  open,  were  still  tall  and  bare,  with 

30  cliffy  battlements  and  here  and  there  a  pointed  summit; 
and  the  Tarn  still  rattled  through  the  stones  with  a 
mountain  noise.  I  had  been  led,  by  bagmen  of  a  pic- 
turesque turn  of  mind,  to  expect  a  horrific  country  after 
the  heart  of  Byron ;  but  tc  my  Scotch  eyes  it  seemed  smil- 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn  237 

ing  and  plentiful,  as  the  weather  still  gave  an  impression 
of  high  summer  to  my  Scotch  body;  although  the  chest- 
nuts were  already  picked  out  by  the  autumn,  and  the 
poplars,  that  here  began  to  mingle  with  them,  had  turned 
into  pale  gold  against  the  approach  of  winter.  5 

There  was  something  in  this  landscape,  smiling  although 
wild,  that  explained  to  me  the  spirit  of  the  Southern 
Covenanters.  Those  who  took  to  the  hills  for  conscience' 
sake  in  Scotland  had  all  gloomy  and  bedeviled  thoughts; 
for  once  that  they  received  God's  comfort  they  would  be  10 
twice  engaged  with  Satan ;  but  the  Camisards  had  only 
bright  and  supporting  visions.  They  dealt  much  more  in 
blood,  both  given  and  taken;  yet  I  find  no  obsession  of 
the  Evil  One  in  their  records.  With  a  light  conscience, 
they  pursued  their  life  in  these  rough  times  and  circum-  15 
stances.  The  soul  of  Seguier,  let  us  not  forget,  was  like 
a  garden.  They  knew  they  were  on  God's  side,  with  a 
knowledge  that  has  no  parallel  among  the  Scots;  for  the 
Scots,  although  they  might  be  certain  of  the  cause,  could 
never  rest  confident  of  the  person.  20 

"  We  flew,"  says  one  old  Camisard,  "  when  we  heard 
the  sound  of  psalm-singing,  we  flew  as  if  with  wings. 
We  felt  within  us  an  animating  ardor,  a  transporting 
desire.  The  feeling  cannot  be  expressed  in  words.  It  is 
a  thing  that  must  have  been  experienced  to  be  under-  25 
stood.  However  weary  we  might  be,  we  thought  no  more 
of  our  weariness  and  grew  light,  so  soon  as  the  psalms 
fell  upon  our  ears." 

The  valley  of  the  Tarn  and  the  people  whom  I  met  at 
La  Vernede  not  only  explain  to  me  this  passage,  but  the  30 
twenty  years  of  suffering  which  those,  who  were  so  stiff 
and  so  bloody  when  once  they  betook  themselves  to  war, 
endured  with  the  meekness  of  children  and  the  constancy 
pf   saints  and   peasants. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FLORAC 

On  a  branch  of  the  Tarn  stands  Florae,  the  seat  of  a 
subprefecture,  with  an  old  castle,  an  alley  of  planes, 
many  quaint  street-corners,  and  a  live  fountain  welling 
from  the  hill.  It  is  notable,  besides,  for  handsome  women, 
5  and  as  one  of  the  two  capitals,  Alais  being  the  other,  of 
the  country  of  the  Camisards. 

The  landlord  of  the  inn  took  me,  after  I  had  eaten,  to 
an  adjoining  cafe,  where  I,  or  rather  my  journey,  be- 
came the  topic  of  the  afternoon.     Every  one  had  some 

10  suggestion  for  my  guidance ;  and  the  subprefectorial  map 
was  fetched  from  the  subprefecture  itself,  and  much 
thumbed  among  coffee-cups  and  glasses  of  liqueur.  Most 
of  these  kind  advisers  were  Protestant,  though  I  observed 
that  Protestant  and  Catholic  intermingled  in  a  very  easy 

15  manner ;  and  it  surprised  me  to  see  what  a  lively  memory 
still  subsisted  of  the  religious  war.  Among  the  hills  of 
the  south-west,  by  Mauchline,  Cumnock,  or  Carsphairn, 
in  isolated  farms  or  in  the  manse,  serious  Presbyterian 
people  still  recall  the  days  of  the  great  persecution,  and 

20  the  graves  of  local  martyrs  are  still  piously  regarded. 
But  in  towns  and  among  the  so-called  better  classes,  I 
fear  that  these  old  doings  have  become  an  idle  tale.  If  you 
met  a  mixed  company  in  the  King's  Arms  at  Wigton,  it  is 
not  likely  that  the  talk  would  run  on  Covenanters.     Nay, 

25  at  Muirkirk  of  Glenluce,  I  found  the  beadle's  wife  had 
not  so  much  as  heard  of  Prophet  Peden,    But  these  Ceve- 

238 


Florae  239 

nols  were  proud  of  their  ancestors  in  quite  another  sense; 
the  war  was  their  chosen  topic;  its  exploits  were  their 
own  patent  of  nobility;  and  where  a  man  or  a  race  has 
had  but  one  adventure,  and  that  heroic,  we  must  expect 
and  pardon  some  prolixity  of  reference.  They  told  me  s 
the  country  was  still  full  of  legends  hitherto  uncollected ; 
I  heard  from  them  about  Cavalier's  descendants — not 
direct  descendants,  be  it  understood,  but  only  cousins  or 
nephews — who  were  still  prosperous  people  in  the  scene 
of  the  boy-general's  exploits;  and  one  farmer  had  seen  10 
the  bones  of  old  combatants  dug  up  into  the  air  of  an 
afternoon  in  the  nineteenth  century,  in  a  field  where  the 
ancestors  had  fought,  and  the  great-grandchildren  were 
peaceably  ditching. 

Later  in  the  day  one  of  the  Protestant  pastors  was  so  15 
good  as  to  visit  me:  a  young  man,  intelligent  and  polite, 
with  whom  I  passed  an  hour  or  two  in  talk.     Florae,  he 
told  me,  is  part  Protestant,  part  Catholic ;  and  the  differ- 
ence  in    religion    is   usually   doubled    by   a   difference   in 
politics.     You  may  judge  of  my  surprise,  coming  as  I  did  20 
from  such  a  babbling  purgatorial  Poland  of  a  place  as 
Monastier,  when  I  learned  that  the  population  lived  to- 
gether on  very  quiet  terms;  and  there  was  even  an  ex- 
change of  hospitalities   between   households  thus   doubly 
separated.     Black  Camisard  and  White  Camisard,  militia-  25 
man  and  Miquelet  and  dragoon,  Protestant  prophet  and 
Catholic  cadet  of  the  White   Cross,   they   had    all   been 
sabering  and  shooting,  burning,  pillaging,  and  murdering, 
their  hearts  hot  with  indignant  passion ;  and  here,  after  a 
hundred  and  seventy  years,  Protestant  is  still  Protestant,  30 
Catholic   still    Catholic,    in    mutual    toleration    and    mild 
amity  of  life.     But  the  race  of  man,  like  that  indomitable 
nature  whence   it   sprang,   has  medicating  virtues  of   its 
own;  the  years  and  seasons  bring  various  harvests;  the 


240  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

sun  returns  after  the  rain ;  and  mankind  outlives  secular 
animosities,  as  a  single  man  awakens  from  the  passions 
of  a  day.  We  judge  our  ancestors  from  a  more  divine 
position ;  and  the  dust  being  a  little  laid  with  several 
5  centuries,  we  can  see  both  sides  adorned  with  human 
virtues  and  fighting  with  a  show  of  right. 

I  have  never  thought  it  easy  to  be  just,  and  find  it  daily 
even  harder  than  I  thought.  I  own  I  met  these  Protes- 
tants with  delight  and  a  sense  of  coming  home.     I  was 

10  accustomed  to  speak  their  language,  in  another  and  deeper 
sense  of  the  word  than  that  which  distinguishes  between 
French  and  English ;  for  the  true  babel  is  a  divergence 
upon  morals.  And  hence  I  could  hold  more  free  com- 
munication with   the   Protestants,  and  judge  them  more 

15  justly,  than  the  Catholics.  Father  Apollinaris  may  pair 
off  with  my  mountain  Plymouth  Brother  as  two  guile- 
less and  devout  old  men ;  yet  I  ask  myself  if  I  had  as 
ready  a  feeling  for  the  virtues  of  the  Trappist;  or  had 
I  been  a  Catholic,  if  I  should  have  felt  so  warmly  to  the 

20  dissenter  of  La  Vernede.  With  the  first  I  was  on  terms 
of  mere  forbearance;  but  with  the  other,  although  only 
on  a  misunderstanding  and  by  keeping  on  selected  points 
it  was  still  possible  to  hold  converse  and  exchange  some 
honest  thoughts.     In  this  world  of  imperfection  we  gladly 

25  welcome  even  partial  intimacies.  And  if  we  find  but  one 
to  whom  we  can  speak  out  of  our  heart  freely,  with  whom 
we  can  walk  in  love  and  simplicity  without  dissimula- 
tion, we  have  no  ground  of  quarrel  with  the  world  or 
God. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN   THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   MIMENTE 

On  Tuesday,  ist  October,  we  left  Florae  late  In  the 
afternoon,  a  tired  donkey  and  tired  donkey-driver.  A 
little  way  up  the  Tarnon,  a  covered  bridge  of  wood  intro- 
duced us  into  the  valley  of  the  Mimente,  Steep  rocky 
red  mountains  overhung  the  stream ;  great  oaks  and  chest-  5 
nuts  grew  upon  the  slopes  or  in  stony  terraces;  here  and 
there  was  a  red  field  of  millet  or  a  few  apple-trees  studded 
with  red  apples ;  and  the  road  passed  hard  by  two  black 
hamlets,  one  with  an  old  castle  atop  to  please  the  heart 
of  the  tourist.  10 

It  was  difficult  here  again  to  find  a  spot  fit  for  my  en- 
campment. Even  under  the  oaks  and  chestnuts  the 
ground  had  not  only  a  very  rapid  slope,  but  was  heaped 
with  loose  stones;  and  where  there  was  no  timber  the  hills 
descended  to  the  stream  in  a  red  precipice  tufted  with  15 
heather.  The  sun  had  left  the  highest  peak  in  front  of  me, 
and  the  valley  was  full  of  the  lowing  sound  of  herdsmen's 
horns  as  they  recalled  the  flocks  into  the  stable,  when  I 
spied  a  bight  of  meadow  some  way  below  the  roadway 
in  an  angle  of  the  river.  Thither  I  descended,  and,  tying  20 
Modestine  provisionally  to  a  tree,  proceeded  to  investigate 
the  neighborhood.  A  gray  pearly  evening  shadow  filled 
the  glen;  objects  at  a  little  distance  grew  indistinct  and 
melted  bafflingly  into  each  other;  and  the  darkness  was 
rising  steadily  like  an  exhalation.  I  approached  a  great  25 
oak  which  grew  in  the  meadow,  hard  by  the  river's  brink: 

241 


242  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

when  to  my  disgust  the  voices  of  children  fell  upon  my 
ear,  and  I  beheld  a  house  round  the  angle  on  the  other 
bank.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  pack  and  begone  again, 
but  the  growing  darkness  moved  me  to  remain.  I  had 
5  only  to  make  no  noise  until  the  night  was  fairly  come,  and 
trust  to  the  dawn  to  call  me  early  in  the  morning.  But 
it  was  hard  to  be  annoyed  by  neighbors  in  such  a  great 
hotel. 

A  hollow  underneath  the  oak  was  my  bed.     Before  I 

10  had  fed  Modestine  and  arranged  my  sack,  three  stars  were 
already  brightly  shining,  and  the  others  were  beginning 
dimly  to  appear.  I  slipped  down  to  the  river,  which 
looked  very  black  among  its  rocks,  to  fill  my  can;  and 
dined  with  a  good  appetite  in  the  dark,  for  I  scrupled  to 

15  light  a  lantern  while  so  near  a  house.  The  moon,  which  I 
had  seen,  a  pallid  crescent,  all  afternoon,  faintly  illumi- 
nated the  summit  of  the  hills,  but  not  a  ray  fell  into  the 
bottom  of  the  glen  where  I  was  lying.  The  oak  rose  be- 
fore  me    like    a   pillar   of    darkness ;    and    overhead    the 

20  heartsome  stars  were  set  in  the  face  of  the  night.  No  one 
knows  the  stars  who  has  not  slept,  as  the  French  happily 
put  it,  a  la  belle  etoile.  He  may  know  all  their  names 
and  distances  and  magnitudes,  and  yet  be  ignorant  of 
what  alone  concerns  mankind,  their  serene  and  gladsome 

25  influence  on  the  mind.  The  greater  part  of  poetry  is 
about  the  stars;  and  very  justly,  for  they  are  themselves 
the  most  classical  of  poets.  These  same  far-away  worlds, 
sprinkled  like  tapers  or  shaken  together  like  a  diamond 
dust  upon  the  sky,  had  looked  not  otherwise  to  Roland 

30  or  Cavalier,  when,  in  the  words  of  the  latter,  they  had 
"no  other  tent  but  the  sky,  and  no  other  bed  than  my 
mother  earth." 

All  night  a  strong  wind  blew  up  the  valley,  and  the 
acorns  fell  pattering  over  me  from  the  oak.    Yet,  on  this 


In  the  Valley  of  the  Mimente  243 

first  night  of  October,  the  air  was  as  mild  as  May,  and  I 
slept  with  the  fur  thrown  back. 

I  was  much  disturbed  by  the  barking  of  a  dog,  an  ani- 
mal that  I   fear  more  than  any  wolf.     A  dog  Is  vastly 
braver,   and  is  besides  supported  by  the  sense  of   duty.  5 
If  you  kill   a  wolf,   you  meet  with  encouragement   and 
praise ;  but  if  you  kill  a  dog,  the  sacred  rights  of  property 
and  the  domestic  affections  come  clamoring  round  you  for 
redress.     At  the  end  of  a  fagging  day,   the  sharp  cruel 
note  of  a  dog's  bark  is  in  itself  a  keen  annoyance;  and  to  10 
a   tramp    like    myself,    he   represents    the   sedentary   and 
respectable  world  in  its  most  hostile  form.    There  is  some- 
thing of  the  clergyman  or  the  lawyer  about  this  engaging 
animal ;  and  if  he  were  not  amenable  to  stones,  the  bold- 
est man  would  shrink  from   traveling  afoot.     I   respect  15 
dogs  much  in  the  domestic  circle;  but  on  the  highway  or 
sleeping  afield,  I  both  detest  and  fear  them. 

I  was  wakened  next  morning  (Wednesday,  October  2d) 
by  the  same  dog — for  I  knew  his  bark — making  a  charge 
down  the  bank,  and  then,  seeing  me  sit  up,  retreating  20 
again  with  great  alacrity.  The  stars  were  not  yet  quite 
extinguished.  The  heaven  was  of  that  enchanting  mild 
gray-blue  of  the  early  morn.  A  still  clear  light  began  to 
fall,  and  the  trees  on  the  hillside  were  outlined  sharply 
against  the  sky.  The  wind  had  veered  more  to  the  north,  25 
and  no  longer  reached  me  in  the  glen ;  but  as  I  was  going 
on  with  my  preparations,  it  drove  a  white  cloud  very 
swiftly  over  the  hill-top;  and  looking  up,  I  was  surprised 
to  see  the  cloud  dyed  with  gold.  In  these  high  regions  of 
the  air,  the  sun  was  already  shining  as  at  noon.  If  only  30 
the  clouds  traveled  high  enough,  we  should  see  the  same 
thing  all  night  long.  For  it  is  always  daylight  in  the 
fields  of  space. 

As  I  began  to  go  up  the  valley,  a  draught  of  wind  came 


244  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

down  it  out  of  the  seat  of  the  sunrise,  although  the  clouds 
continued  to  run  overhead  in  an  almost  contrary  direc- 
tion. A  few  steps  farther,  and  I  saw  a  whole  hillside 
gilded  with  the  sun ;  and  still  a  little  beyond,  between 
5  two  peaks,  a  center  of  dazzling  brilliancy  appeared  floating 
in  the  sky,  and  I  was  once  more  face  to  face  with  the  big 
bonfire  that  occupies  the  kernel  of  our  system. 

I    met   but   one   human   being   that    forenoon,    a   dark 
military-looking  wayfarer,  who  carried  a  gamebag  on  a 

10  baldric;  but  he  made  a  remark  that  seems  worthy  of 
record.  For  when  I  asked  him  if  he  were  Protestant  or 
Catholic — 

"  O,"  said  he,  "  I  make  no  shame  of  my  religion.    I  am 
a  Catholic." 

15  He  made  no  shame  of  it!  The  phrase  is  a  piece  of 
natural  statistics;  for  it  is  the  language  of  one  in  a 
minority.  I  thought  with  a  smile  of  Bavile  and  his 
dragoons,  and  how  you  may  ride  rough-shod  over  a  re- 
ligion for  a  century,  and  leave  It  only  the  more  lively  for 

20  the  friction.  Ireland  is  still  Catholic;  the  Cevennes  still 
Protestant.  It  is  not  a  basketful  of  law-papers,  nor  the 
hoofs  and  pistol-butts  of  a  regiment  of  horse,  that  can 
change  one  tittle  of  a  plowman's  thoughts.  Outdoor 
rustic  people  have  not  many  ideas,  but  such  as  they  have 

25  are  hardy  plants  and  thrive  flourishingly  in  persecution. 
One  who  has  grown  a  long  while  in  the  sweat  of  laborious 
noons,  and  under  the  stars  at  night,  a  frequenter  of  hills 
and  forests,  an  old  honest  countryman,  has,  in  the  end, 
a  sense  of  communion  with  the  powers  of  the  universe, 

30  and  amicable  relations  towards  his  God.  Like  my  moun- 
tain Plymouth  Brother,  he  knows  the  Lord.  His  religion 
does  not  repose  upon  a  choice  of  logic;  it  is  the  poetry 
of  the  man's  experience,  the  philosophy  of  the  history  of 
his  life.     God,  like  a  great  power,  like  a  great  shining 


In  the  Valley  of  the  MImente  245 

sun,  has  appeared  to  this  simple  fellow  in  the  course  of 
years,  and  become  the  ground  and  essence  of  his  least  reflec- 
tions; and  you  may  change  creeds  and  dogmas  by  author- 
ity, or  proclaim  a  new  religion  with  the  sound  of  trumpets, 
if  you  will ;  but  here  is  a  man  who  has  his  own  thoughts,  5 
and  will  stubbornly  adhere  to  them  in  good  and  evil. 
He  is  a  Catholic,  a  Protestant,  or  a  Plymouth  Brother,  in 
the  same  indefeasible  sense  that  a  man  is  not  a  woman,  or 
a  woman  not  a  man.  For  he  could  not  vary  from  his 
faith,  unless  he  could  eradicate  all  memory  of  the  past,  10 
and,  in  a  strict  and  not  a  conventional  meaning,  change 
his  mind. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    HEART    OF    THE    COUNTRY 

I  WAS  now  drawing  near  to  Cassagnas,  a  cluster  of 
black  roofs  upon  the  hillside,  in  this  wild  valley,  among 
chestnut  gardens,  and  looked  upon  in  the  clear  air  by 
many  rocky  peaks.  The  road  along  the  Mimente  is  yet 
5  new,  nor  have  the  mountaineers  recovered  their  surprise 
when  the  first  cart  arrived  at  Cassagnas.  But  although  it 
lay  thus  apart  from  the  current  of  men's  business,  this 
hamlet  had  already  made  a  figure  in  the  history  of  France. 
Hard  by,  in  caverns  of  the  mountain,  was  one  of  the  five 

10  arsenals  of  the  Camisards ;  where  they  laid  up  clothes  and 
corn  and  arms  against  necessity,  forged  bayonets  and 
sabers,  and  made  themselves  gunpowder  with  willow  char- 
coal and  saltpeter  boiled  in  kettles.  To  the  same  caves, 
amid   this  multifarious   industry,   the   sick   and   wounded 

15  were  brought  up  to  heal ;  and  there  they  were  visited  by 
the  two  surgeons,  Chabrier  and  Tavan,  and  secretly  nursed 
by  women  of  the  neighborhood. 

Of   the   five   legions   into   which    the   Camisards  were 
divided,  it  was  the  oldest  and  the  most  obscure  that  had 

20  its  magazines  by  Cassagnas.  This  was  the  band  of  Spirit 
Seguier;  men  who  had  joined  their  voices  with  his  in  the 
68th  Psalm  as  they  marched  down  by  night  on  the  arch- 
priest  of  the  Cevennes.  Seguier,  promoted  to  heaven,  was 
succeeded  by  Salomon  Couderc,  whom  Cavalier  treats  in 

25  his  memoirs  as  chaplain-general  to  the  whole  army  of 
the  Camisards.     He  was  a  prophet;  a  great  reader  of 

246 


The  Heart  of  the  Country  247 

the  heart,  who  admitted  people  to  the  sacrament  or  re- 
fused them  by  "  intentively  viewing  every  man  "  between 
the  eyes;  and  had  the  most  of  the  Scriptures  off  by  rote. 
And  this  was  surely  happy;  since  in  a  surprise  in  August 
1703,  he  lost  his  mule,  his  portfolios,  and  his  Bible.  It  is  5 
only  strange  that  they  were  not  surprised  more  often  and 
more  effectually;  for  this  legion  of  Cassagnas  was  truly 
patriarchal  in  its  theory  of  war,  and  camped  without 
sentries,  leaving  that  duty  to  the  angels  of  the  God  for 
whom  they  fought.  This  is  a  token,  not  only  of  their  10 
faith,  but  of  the  trackless  country  where  they  harbored. 
M.  de  Caladon,  taking  a  stroll  one  fine  day,  walked  with- 
out warning  into  their  midst,  as  he  might  have  walked 
into  "  a  flock  of  sheep  in  a  plain,"  and  found  some  asleep 
and  some  awake  and  psalm-singing.  A  traitor  had  need  15 
of  no  recommendation  to  insinuate  himself  among  their 
ranks,  beyond  "  his  faculty  of  singing  psalms ;"  and  even 
the  prophet  Salomon  "  took  him  into  a  particular  friend- 
ship." Thus,  among  their  intricate  hills,  the  rustic  troop 
subsisted ;  and  history  can  attribute  few  exploits  to  them  20 
but  sacraments  and  ecstasies. 

People  of  this  tough  and  simple  stock  will  not,  as  I 
have  just  been  saying,  prove  variable  in  religion;  nor  will 
they  get  nearer  to  apostasy  than  a  mere  external  conform- 
ity like  that  of  Naaman  in  the  house  of  Rimmon.  When  25 
Louis  XVI,  in  the  words  of  the  edict,  "  convinced  by  the 
uselessness  of  a  century  of  persecutions,  and  rather  from 
necessity  than  sympathy,"  granted  at  last  a  royal  grace  of 
toleration,  Cassagnas  was  still  Protestant;  and  to  a  man, 
it  is  so  to  this  day.  There  is,  indeed,  one  family  that  is  30 
not  Protestant,  but  neither  is  it  Catholic.  It  is  that  of 
a  Catholic  cure  in  revolt,  who  has  taken  to  his  bosom  a 
schoolmistress.  And  his  conduct,  it's  worth  noting,  is 
disapproved  by  the  Protestant  villagers. 


248  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

"  It  is  a  bad  idea  for  a  man,"  said  one,  "  to  go  back 
from  his  engagements." 

The  villagers  whom  I  saw  seemed  intelligent  after  a 
countrified   fashion,  and  were  all  plain  and  dignified   in 
5  manner.    As  a  Protestant  myself,  I  was  well  looked  upon, 
and  my  acquaintance  with  history  gained  me  farther  re- 
spect.    For  we  had  something  not  unlike  a  religious  con- 
troversy at  table,  a  gendarme  and  a  merchant  with  whom 
I  dined  being  both  strangers  to  the  place  and  Catholics. 
10  The  young  men  of  the  house  stood  round  and  supported 
me;  and  the  whole  discussion  was  tolerantly  conducted, 
and  surprised  a  man  brought  up  among  the  infinitesimal 
and  contentious  differences  of  Scotland.     The  merchant, 
indeed,  grew  a  little  warm,  and  was  far  less  pleased  than 
15  some  others  with   my  historical   acquirements.     But   the 
gendarme  was  mighty  easy  over  it  all. 

"  It's  a  bad  idea  for  a  man  to  change,"  said  he;  and  the 
remark  was  generally  applauded. 

That  was  not  the  opinion  of  the  priest  and  soldier  at 

20  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows.    But  this  is  a  different  race;  and 

perhaps  the  same  great-heartedness  that  upheld  them  to 

resist,  now  enables  them  to  differ  in  a  kind  spirit.     For 

courage   respects  courage;   but  where   a   faith   has   been 

trodden  out,  we  may  look  for  a  mean  and  narrow  popula- 

25  tion.     The  true  work   of  Bruce  and  Wallace  was  the 

union  of  the  nations;  not  that  they  should  stand  apart 

awhile  longer,  skirmishing  upon  their  borders;  but  that, 

when  the  time  came,  they  might  unite  with  self-respect. 

The  merchant  was  much  interested  in  my  journey,  and 

30  thought  it  dangerous  to  sleep  afield. 

"  There  are  the  wolves,"  said  he;  "  and  then  it  is  known 
you  are  an  Englishman.  The  English  have  always  long 
purses,  and  it  might  very  well  enter  into  some  one's 
head  to  deal  you  an  ill  blow  some  night." 


The  Heart  of  the  Country  249 

I  told  him  I  was  not  much  afraid  of  such  accidents; 
and  at  any  rate  judged  it  unwise  to  dwell  upon  alarms  or 
consider  small  perils  in  the  arrangement  of  life.  Life 
itself,  I  submitted,  was  a  far  too  risky  business  as  a  whole 
to  make  each  additional  particular  of  danger  worth  re-  5 
gard.  "  Something,"  said  I,  "  might  burst  in  your  inside 
any  day  of  the  week,  and  there  would  be  an  end  of  you,  if 
you  were  locked  into  your  room  with  three  turns  of  the 
key." 

" Cependant,"  said  he,  "  coucher  dehors!"  10 

"God,"  said  I,  "is  everywhere." 

"Cependant,    coucher   dehors!"   he   repeated,    and   his 
voice  was  eloquent  of  terror. 

He  was  the  only  person,  in  all  my  voyage,  who  saw 
anything  hardy  in  so  simple  a  proceeding;  although  many  15 
considered  it  superfluous.  Only  one,  on  the  other  hand, 
professed  much  delight  in  the  idea;  and  that  was  my 
Plymouth  Brother,  who  cried  out,  when  I  told  him  I 
sometimes  preferred  sleeping  under  the  stars  to  a  close 
and  noisy  alehouse,  "  Now  I  see  that  you  know  the  20 
Lord !  " 

The  merchant  asked  me  for  one  of  my  cards  as  I  was 
leaving,   for  he   said   I   should   be  something  to   talk  of 
in  the  future,  and  desired  me  to  make  a  note  of  his  re- 
quest   and    reason;    a    desire    with    which    I    have   thus  25 
complied. 

A  little  after  two  I  struck  across  the  Mimente,  and 
took  a  rugged  path  southward  up  a  hillside  covered  with 
loose  stones  and  tufts  of  heather.  At  the  top,  as  is  the 
habit  of  the  country,  the  path  disappeared ;  and  I  left  my  30 
she-ass  munching  heather,  and  went  forward  alone  to  seek 
a  road. 

I  was  now  on  the  separation  of  two  vast  watersheds; 
behind  me  all  the  streams  were  bound  for  the  Garonne  and 


250  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

the  Western  Ocean ; -before  me  was  the  basin  of  the  Rhone. 
Hence,  as  from  the  Lozere,  you  can  see  in  clear  weather 
the  shining  of  the  Gulf  of  Lyons;  and  perhaps  from  here 
the  soldiers  of  Salomon  may  have  watched  for  the  top- 

5  sails  of  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel,  and  the  long-promised  aid 
from  England.  You  may  take  this  ridge  as  lying  in  the 
heart  of  the  country  of  the  Camisards;  four  of  the  five 
legions  camped  all  round  it  and  almost  within  view — 
Salomon  and  Joani  to  the  north,  Castanet  and  Roland  to 

10  the  south ;  and  when  Julien  had  finished  his  famous  work, 
the  devastation  of  the  High  Cevennes,  which  lasted  all 
through  October  and  November,  1703,  and  during  which 
four  hundred  and  sixty  villages  and  hamlets  were,  with 
fire  and  pickax,  utterly  subverted,  a  man  standing  on  this 

15  eminence  w^ould  have  looked  forth  upon  a  silent,  smoke- 
less, and  dispeopled  land.  Time  and  man's  activity  have 
now  repaired  these  ruins;  Cassagnas  is  once  more  roofed 
and  sending  up  domestic  smoke;  and  in  the  chestnut 
gardens,    in   low   and    leafy   corners,   many   a   prosperous 

20  farmer  returns,  when  the  day's  work  is  done,  to  his  chil- 
dren and  bright  hearth.  And  still  it  was  perhaps  the 
wildest  view  of  all  my  journey.  Peak  upon  peak,  chain 
upon  chain  of  hills  ran  surging  southward,  channeled  and 
sculptured  by  the  winter  streams,  feathered  from  head  to 

25  foot  with  chestnuts,  and  here  and  there  breaking  out  into 
a  coronal  of  cliffs.  The  sun,  which  was  still  far  from 
setting,  sent  a  drift  of  misty  gold  across  the  hill-tops,  but 
the  valleys  were  already  plunged  in  a  profound  and  quiet 
shadow. 

30  A  very  old  shepherd,  hobbling  on  a  pair  of  sticks,  and 
wearing  a  black  cap  of  liberty,  as  if  in  honor  of  his  near- 
ness to  the  grave,  directed  me  to  the  road  for  St.  Germain 
de  Calberte.  There  was  something  solemn  in  the  isolation 
of  this  infirm  and  ancient  creature.    Where  he  dwelt,  how 


The  Heart  of  the  Country  251 

he  got  upon  this  high  ridge,  or  how  he  proposed  to  get 
down  again,  were  more  than  I  could  fancy.  Not  far  off 
upon  my  right  was  the  famous  Plan  de  Font  Morte,  where 
Poul  with  his  Armenian  saber  slashed  down  the  Camisards 
of  Seguier.  This,  methought,  might  be  some  Rip  van  5 
Winkle  of  the  war,  who  had  lost  his  comrades,  fleeing 
before  Poul,  and  wandered  ever  since  upon  the  mountains. 
It  might  be  news  to  him  that  Cavalier  had  surrendered, 
or  Roland  had  fallen  fighting  with  his  back  against  an 
olive.  And  while  I  was  thus  working  on  my  fancy,  I  10 
heard  him  hailing  in  broken  tones,  and  saw  him  waving 
me  to  come  back  with  one  of  his  two  sticks.  I  had  already 
got  some  way  past  him ;  but,  leaving  Modestine  once  more, 
retraced  my  steps. 

Alas,    it   was   a   very   commonplace   affair.     The   old  15 
gentleman  had  forgot  to  ask  the  pedlar  what  he  sold,  and 
wished  to  remedy  this  neglect. 

I  told  him  sternly,  "  Nothing." 

"  Nothing?"  cried  he. 

I  repeated  "  Nothing,"  and  made  off.  20 

It's  odd  to  think  of,  but  perhaps  I  thus  became  as  in- 
explicable to  the  old  man  as  he  had  been  to  me. 

The  road  lay  under  chestnuts,  and  though  I  saw  a 
hamlet  or  two  below  me  in  the  vale,  and  many  lone  houses 
of  the  chestnut  farmers,  it  was  a  very  solitary  march  all  25 
afternoon ;  and  the  evening  began  early  underneath  the 
trees.  But  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  woman  singing  some 
sad,  old,  endless  ballad  not  far  off.  It  seemed  to  be  about 
love  and  a  bel  amoureux,  her  handsome  sweetheart ;  and  I 
wished  I  could  have  taken  up  the  strain  and  answered  her,  30 
as  I  went  on  upon  my  invisible  woodland  way,  weaving, 
like  Pippa  in  the  poem,  my  own  thoughts  with  hers. 
What  could  I  have  told  her?  Little  enough;  and  yet  all 
the  heart  requires.    How  the  world  gives  and  takes  away, 


252  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

and  brings  sweethearts  near,  only  to  separate  them  again 
into  distant  and  strange  lands;  but  to  love  is  the  great 
amulet  which  makes  the  world  a  garden ;  and  "  hope, 
which  comes  to  all,"  outwears  the  accidents  of  life,  and 

5  reaches  with  tremulous  hand  beyond  the  grave  and  death. 
Easy  to  say;  yea,  but  also,  by  God's  mercy,  both  easy  and 
grateful  to  believe! 

We  struck  at  last  into  a  wide  white  high-road  carpeted 
with  noiseless  dust.     The  night  had  come;  the  moon  had 

10  been  shining  for  a  long  while  upon  the  opposite  mountain ; 
when  on  turning  a  corner  my  donkey  and  I  issued  our- 
selves into  her  light.  I  had  emptied  out  my  brandy  at 
Florae,  for  I  could  bear  the  stuff  no  longer,  and  replaced 
it  with  some  generous  and  scented  Volnay;  and  now  I 

15  drank  to  the  moon's  sacred  majesty  upon  the  road.  It  was 
but  a  couple  of  mouthfuls:  yet  I  became  thenceforth  un- 
conscious of  my  limbs,  and  my  blood  flowed  with  luxury. 
Even  Modestine  was  inspired  by  this  purified  nocturnal 
sunshine,   and  bestirred   her  little  hoofs   as  to   a  livelier 

20  measure.  The  road  wound  and  descended  swiftly  among 
masses  of  chestnuts.  Hot  dust  rose  from  our  feet  and 
flowed  away.  Our  two  shadows — mine  deformed  with 
the  knapsack,  hers  comically  bestridden  by  the  pack — 
now  lay  before  us  clearly  outlined  on  the  road,  and  now, 

25  as  we  turned  a  corner,  went  off  into  the  ghostly  distance, 
and  sailed  along  the  mountain  like  clouds.  From  time 
to  time  a  w^arm  wind  rustled  down  the  valley,  and  set  all 
the  chestnuts  dangling  their  bunches  of  foliage  and  fruit; 
the  ear  was  filled  with  whispering  music,  and  the  shadows 

30  danced  in  tune.  And  next  moment  the  breeze  had  gone 
by,  and  In  all  the  valley  nothing  moved  except  our  travel- 
ing feet.  On  the  opposite  slope,  the  monstrous  ribs  and 
gullies  of  the  mountain  were  faintly  designed  In  the  moon- 
shine ;  and  high  overhead,  In  some  lone  house,  there  burned 


The  Heart  of  the  Country  253 

one  lighted  window,  one  square  spark  of  red  in  the  huge 
field  of  sad  nocturnal  coloring. 

At  a  certain  point,  as  I  went  downward,  turning  many 
acute  angles,  the  moon  disappeared  behind  the  hill ;  and 
I  pursued  my  way  in  great  darkness,  until  another  5 
turning  shot  me  without  preparation  into  St.  Germain  de 
Calberte.  The  place  was  asleep  and  silent,  and  buried  in 
opaque  night.  Only  from  a  single  open  door,  some  lamp- 
light escaped  upon  the  road  to  show  me  that  I  was  come 
among  men's  habitations.  The  two  last  gossips  of  the  10 
evening,  still  talking  by  a  garden  wall,  directed  me  to  the 
inn.  The  landlady  was  getting  her  chicks  to  bed ;  the 
fire  was  already  out,  and  had,  not  without  grumbling,  to 
be  rekindled ;  half  an  hour  later  and  I  must  have  gone  sup- 
perless  to  roost.  15 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LAST   DAY 

When  I  awoke  (Thursday,  3d  October),  and,  hear- 
ing a  great  flourishing  of  cocks  and  chuckling  of  contented 
hens,  betook  me  to  the  window  of  the  clean  and  comfort- 
able room  where  I  had  slept  the  night,  I  looked  forth 
5  on  a  sunshiny  morning  in  a  deep  vale  of  chestnut  gardens. 
It  was  still  early,  and  the  cockcrows,  and  the  slanting 
lights,  and  the  long  shadows  encouraged  me  to  be  out 
and  look  round  me. 

St.  Germain  de  Calberte  is  a  great  parish  nine  leagues 

10  round  about.  At  the  period  of  the  wars,  and  immediately 
before  the  devastation,  it  was  inhabited  by  two  hundred 
and  seventy-five  families,  of  which  only  nine  were  Catho- 
lic ;  and  it  took  the  cure  seventeen  September  days  to  go 
from  house  to  house  on  horseback  for  a  census.     But  the 

15  place  itself,  although  capital  of  a  canton,  is  scarce  larger 
than  a  hamlet.  It  lies  terraced  across  a  steep  slope  in  the 
midst  of  mighty  chestnuts.  The  Protestant  chapel  stands 
belovi^  upon  a  shoulder;  in  the  midst  of  the  town  is  the 
quaint  old  Catholic  church. 

20  It  was  here  that  poor  Du  Chayla,  the  Christian  martyr, 
kept  his  library  and  held  a  court  of  missionaries;  here  he 
had  built  his  tomb,  thinking  to  lie  among  a  grateful  popu- 
lation whom  he  had  redeemed  from  error;  and  hither  on 
the  morrow  of  his  death  they  brought  the  body,  pierced 

25  with  two-and-fifty  wounds,  to  be  interred.  Clad  in  his 
priestly  robes,  he  was  laid  out  in  state  in  the  church.    The 

254 


The  Last  Day  255 

cure,  taking  hfs  text  from  Second  Samuel,  twentieth  chap- 
ter and  twelfth  verse,  "  And  Amasa  wallowed  in  his  blood 
in  the  highway,"  preached  a  rousing  sermon,  and  exhorted 
his  brethren  to  die  each  at  his  post,  like  their  unhappy 
and  illustrious  superior.  In  the  midst  of  this  eloquence  5 
there  came  a  breeze  that  Spirit  Seguier  was  near  at  hand ; 
and  behold!  all  the  assembly  took  to  their  horses'  heels, 
some  east,  some  west,  and  the  cure  himself  as  far  as 
Alais. 

Strange  was  the  position  of  this  little  Catholic  metrop-  10 
olis,  a  thimbleful  of  Rome,  in  such  a  wild  and  contrary 
neighborhood.     On  the  one  hand,  the  legion  of  Salomon 
overlooked  it  from  Cassagnas ;  on  the  other,  it  was  cut  off 
from  assistance  by  the  legion  of  Roland  at  Mialet.     The 
cure,  Lx)uvrelenil,  although  he  took  a  panic  at  the  arch-  15 
priest's    funeral,    and    so    hurriedly    decamped    to    Alais, 
stood  well  by  his  isolated  pulpit,  and  thence  uttered  ful- 
minations  against  the  crimes  of  the  Protestants.     Salomon 
besieged  the  village  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  but  was  beat 
back.     The  militiamen,  on  guard  before  the  cure's  door,  20 
could   be  heard,   in   the  black   hours,   singing  Protestant 
psalms   and    holding   friendly   talk   with    the    insurgents. 
And  in  the  morning,  although  not  a  shot  had  been  fired, 
there  would   not  be  a   round  of  powder  in  their  flasks. 
Where  was  it  gone?     All  handed  over  to  the  Camisards  25 
for  a  consideration.     Untrusty  guardians  for  an  isolated 
priest ! 

That  these  continual  stirs  were  once  busy  in  St.  Ger- 
main de  Calberte,  the  imagination  with  difficulty  receives; 
all  is  now  so  quiet,  the  pulse  of  human  life  now  beats  so  30 
low  and  still  in  this  hamlet  of  the  mountains.  Boys 
followed  me  a  great  way  off,  like  a  timid  sort  of  lion- 
hunters;  and  people  turned  round  to  have  a  second  look, 
or  came  out  of  their  houses,  as  I  went  by.     My  passage 


256  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

was  the  first  event,  you  would  have  fancied,  since  the 
Camisards.  There  was  nothing  rude  or  forward  in  this 
observation ;  it  was  but  a  pleased  and  wondering  scrutiny, 
like  that  of  oxen  or  the  human  infant;  yet  it  wearied  my 
5  spirits,  and  soon  drove  me  from  the  street. 

I  took  refuge  on  the  terraces,  which  are  here  greenly 
carpeted  with  sward,  and  tried  to  imitate  with  a  pencil 
the  inimitable  attitudes  of  the  chestnuts  as  they  bear  up 
their  canopy  of  leaves.     Ever  and  again  a  little  wind  went 

10  by,  and  the  nuts  dropped  all  around  me,  with  a  light  and 
dull  sound,  upon  the  sward.  The  noise  was  as  of  a  thin 
fall  of  great  hailstones;  but  there  went  with  it  a  cheerful 
human  sentiment  of  an  approaching  harvest  and  farmers 
rejoicing  in  their  gains.    Looking  up,  I  could  see  the  brown 

15  nut  peering  through  the  husk,  which  was  already  gaping; 
and  between  the  stems  the  eye  embraced  an  amphitheater 
of  hill,  sunlit  and  green  with  leaves. 

I  have  not  often  enjoyed  a  place  more  deeply.  I  moved 
in  an   atmosphere  of  pleasure,   and   felt  light  and   quiet 

20  and  content.  But  perhaps  it  was  not  the  place  alone  that 
so  disposed  my  spirit.  Perhaps  some  one  was  thinking 
of  me  in  another  country;  or  perhaps  some  thought  of  my 
own  had  come  and  gone  unnoticed,  and  yet  done  me  good. 
For  some  thoughts,  which  sure  would  be  the  most  beauti- 

25ful,  vanish  before  we  can  rightly  scan  their  features; 
as  though  a  god,  traveling  by  our  green  highways,  should 
but  ope  the  door,  give  one  smiling  look  into  the  house, 
and  go  again  for  ever.  Was  it  Apollo,  or  Mercury,  or 
Love  with  folded  wings?     Who  shall  say?     But  we  go 

30  the  lighter  about  our  business,  and  feel  peace  and  pleasure 
in  our  hearts. 

I  dined  with  a  pair  of  Catholics.  They  agreed  in  the 
condemnation  of  a  young  man,  a  Catholic,  who  had  mar- 
ried a  Protestant  girl  and  gone  over  to  the  religion  of 


The  Last  Day  257 

his  wife.  A  Protestant  born  they  could  understand  and 
respect ;  indeed,  they  seemed  to  be  of  the  mind  of  an  old 
Catholic  woman,  who  told  me  that  same  day  there  was 
no  difference  between  the  two  sects,  save  that  "  wrong 
was  more  wrong  for  the  Catholic,"  who  had  more  light  5 
and  guidance;  but  this  of  a  man's  desertion  filled  them 
with  contempt. 

"  It  is  a  bad  idea  for  a  man  to  change,"  said  one. 

It  may  have  been  accidental,  but  you  see  how  this  phrase 
pursued  me;  and  for  myself,  I  believe  it  is  the  current  10 
philosophy    in    these    parts.      I    have    some    difficulty    in 
imagining  a  better.     It's  not  only  a  great  flight  of  confi- 
dence for  a  man  to  change  his  creed  and  go  out  of  his 
family   for   heaven's   sake;   but   the   odds   are — nay,    and 
the  hope   is — that,   with  all  this  great  transition   in   the  15 
eyes  of  man,  he  has  not  changed  himself  a  hairsbreadth 
to  the  eyes  of  God.     Honor  to  those  who  do  so,  for  the 
wrench  is  sore.     But  it  argues  something  narrow,  whether 
of  strength  or  weakness,  whether  of  the  prophet  or  the 
fool,  in  those  who  can  take  a  sufficient  interest  in  such  20 
infinitesimal  and   human  operations,  or  who  can  quit  a 
friendship   for  a  doubtful   process  of   the  mind.     And   I 
think  I  should  not  leave  my  old  creed  for  another,  chang- 
ing only  words  for  other  words ;  but  by  some  brave  reading, 
embrace  it  in  spirit  and  truth,  and  find  wrong  as  wrong  for  25 
me  as  for  the  best  of  other  communions. 

The  phylloxera  was  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  instead 
of  wine  we  drank  at  dinner  a  more  economical  juice  of 
the  grape — La  Parisienne,  they  call  it.  It  is  made  by  put- 
ting the  fruit  whole  into  a  cask  with  water;  one  by  one  the  30 
berries  ferment  and  burst;  what  is  drunk  during  the  day 
is  supplied  at  night  in  water ;  so,  with  ever  another  pitcher 
from  the  well,  and  ever  another  grape  exploding  and  giv- 
ing out  its  strength,  one  cask  of  Parisienne  may  last  a 


258  Travels  with  a   Donkey 

family  till  spring.     It  is,  as  the  reader  will  anticipate,  a 
feeble  beverage,  but  very  pleasant  to  the  taste. 

What  with  dinner  and  coffee,  it  was  long  past  three 
before  I  left  St.  Germain  de  Calberte.  I  went  down  be- 
5  side  the  Gardon  of  Alialet,  a  great  glaring  watercourse 
devoid  of  water,  and  through  St.  Etienne  de  Vallee  Fran- 
gaise,  or  Val  Francesque,  as  they  used  to  call  it ;  and 
towards  evening  began  to  ascend  the  hill  of  St.  Pierre. 
It  was  a  long  and  steep  ascent.     Behind  me  an  empty 

10  carriage  returning  to  St.  Jean  du  Gard  kept  hard  upon  my 
tracks,  and  near  the  summit  overtook  me.  The  driver, 
like  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  sure  I  was  a  pedlar;  but, 
unlike  others,  he  was  sure  of  what  I  had  to  sell.  He  had 
noticed  the  blue  wool  which  hung  out  of  my  pack  at  either 

15  end ;  and  from  this  he  had  decided,  beyond  my  power  to 
alter  his  decision,  that  I  dealt  in  blue-wool  collars,  such 
as  decorate  the  neck  of  the  French  draught-horse. 

I  had  hurried  to  the  topmost  powers  of  Modestine,  for  I 
dearly  desired  to  see  the  view  upon  the  other  side  before 

20  the  day  had  faded.  But  it  was  night  when  I  reached  the 
summit;  the  moon  was  riding  high  and  clear;  and  only  a 
few  gray  streaks  of  twilight  lingered  in  the  west.  A  yawn- 
ing valley,  gulfed  in  blackness,  lay  like  a  hole  in  created 
nature  at  my  feet;  but  the  outline  of  the  hills  was  sharp 

25  against  the  sky.  There  was  Mount  Aigoal,  the  strong- 
hold of  Castanet.  And  Castanet,  not  only  as  an  active 
undertaking  leader,  deserves  some  mention  among  Caml- 
sards;  for  there  is  a  spray  of  rose  among  his  laurel;  and 
he  showed  how,  even  in  a  public  tragedy,  love  will  have  its 

30  way.  In  the  high  tide  of  war  he  married,  in  his  mountain 
citadel,  a  young  and  pretty  lass  called  Mariette.  There 
were  great  rejoicings;  and  the  bridegroom  released  five- 
and-twenty  prisoners  in  honor  of  the  glad  event.  Seven 
months  afterwards  Mariette,  the  Princess  of  the  Cevennes, 


The  Last  Day  259 

as  they  called  her  In  derision,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
authorities,  where  it  was  like  to  have  gone  hard  with  her. 
But  Castanet  was  a  man  of  execution,  and  loved  his  wife. 
He  fell  on  Valleraugue,  and  got  a  lady  there  for  a  hostage  ; 
and  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  that  war  there  was  an  5 
exchange  of  prisoners.  Their  daughter,  pledge  of  some 
starry  night  upon  Mount  Aigoal,  has  left  descendants  to 
this  day. 

Modestine  and  I — it  was  our  last  meal  together — had 
a  snack  upon  the  top  of  St,  Pierre,  I  on  a  heap  of  stones,  10 
she  standing  by  me  in  the  moonlight  and  decorously  eating 
bread  out  of  my  hand.  The  poor  brute  would  eat  more 
heartily  in  this  manner ;  for  she  had  a  sort  of  affection  for 
me,  which  I  was  soon  to  betray. 

It  was  a  long  descent  upon  St.  Jean  du  Gard,  and  we  15 
met  no  one  but  a  carter,  visible  afar  off  by  the  glint  of  the 
moon  on  his  extinguished  lantern. 

Before  ten  o'clock  we  had  got  in  and  were  at  supper; 
fifteen  miles  and  a  stiff  hill  in  little  beyond  six  hours! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FAREWELL,  MODESTINE 

On  examination,  on  the  morning  of  October  3d,  Abodes- 
tine  was  pronounced  unfit  for  travel.  She  would  need  at 
least  two  days'  repose  according  to  the  ostler;  but  I  was 
now  eager  to  reach  Alais  for  my  letters;  and,  being  in  a 
5  civilized  country  of  stage-coaches,  I  determined  to  sell  my 
lad)'-friend  and  be  off  by  the  diligence  that  afternoon. 
Our  yesterday's  march,  with  the  testimony  of  the  driver 
who  had  pursued  us  up  the  long  hill  of  St.  Pierre,  spread  a 
favorable  notion  of  my  donkey's  capabilities.     Intending 

10  purchasers  were  aware  of  an  unrivaled  opportunity.  Be- 
fore ten  I  had  an  offer  of  tW' enty-five  francs ;  and  before 
noon,  after  a  desperate  engagement,  I  sold  her,  saddled 
and  all,  for  five-and-thirty.  The  pecuniary  gain  is  not 
obvious,  but  I  had  bought  freedom  into  the  bargain. 

15  St.  Jean  du  Gard  is  a  large  place  and  largely  Protestant. 
The  maire,  a  Protestant,  asked  me  to  help  him  in  a  small 
matter  which  is  itself  characteristic  of  the  country.  The 
young  women  of  the  Cevennes  profit  by  the  common 
religion  and  the  difference  of  the  language  to  go  largely 

20  as  governesses  into  England ;  and  here  was  one,  a  native 
of  Mialet,  struggling  with  English  circulars  from  two  dif- 
ferent agencies  in  London.  I  gave  what  help  I  could ;  and 
volunteered  some  advice,  which  struck  me  as  being  ex- 
cellent. 

25  One  thing  more  I  note.  The  phylloxera  has  ravaged 
the  vineyards  in  this  neighborhood ;  and  in  the  early  morn- 

260 


Farewell,   Modestine  261 

ing,  under  some  chestnuts  by  the  river,  I  found  a  party 
of  men  working  with  a  cider-press.  I  could  not  at  first 
make  out  what  they  were  after,  and  asked  one  fellow  to 
explain. 

"  Making   cider,"    he    said.      "  Qui,    c'est    comme    ca.  5 
Comme  dans  le  nord!" 

There  was  a  ring  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice:  the  country 
was  going  to  the  devil. 

It  was  not  until  I  was  fairly  seated  by  the  driver,  and 
rattling  through  a  rocky  valley  with  dwarf  olives,  that  I  10 
became  aware  of  my  bereavement.     I  had  lost  Modestine. 
Up  to  that  moment  I  had  thought  I  hated  her;  but  now 
she  was  gone, 

"And,  O, 
The    difference    to    me!"  15 

For  twelve  days  we  had  been  fast  companions;  we  had 
traveled  upwards  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  crossed 
several  respectable  ridges,  and  jogged  along  with  our 
six  legs  by  many  a  rocky  and  many  a  boggy  by-road. 
After  the  first  day,  although  sometimes  I  was  hurt  and  20 
distant  in  manner,  I  still  kept  my  patience ;  and  as  for  her, 
poor  soul!  she  had  come  to  regard  me  as  a  god.  She 
loved  to  eat  out  of  my  hand.  She  was  patient,  elegant 
in  form,  the  color  of  an  ideal  mouse,  and  inimitably 
small.  Her  faults  were  those  of  her  race  and  sex;  her  25 
virtues  were  her  own.     Farewell,  and  if  for  ever — 

Father  Adam  wept  when  he  sold  her  to  me ;  after  I  had 
sold  her  in  my  turn,  I  was  tempted  to  follow  his  example ; 
and   being  alone   with    a  stage-driver    and    four   or   five 
agreeable  young  men,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  yield  to  my  30 
emotion. 


NOTES  AND  COMMENT 


ChaTxny>^5^La  Fere 
^oyoni-^^^^  oSt.Gobain 

"^       oConey°^°" 


Pj" 


^Compiegne 


PrecyQ/'  Cieil 

1        '^- 
.  Pontolse^^L'Isle  Adam 


Pont  Ste.Maxence_A> 
-oil  "^T 


c 


3  Reims 
E 


Paris 


Barbizotto 
Fontainebleaao 


AN  INLAND 
TOXAGE 

Scale  of  Statute  Miles 


NOTES  AND  COMMENT 

(Heavy  numerals  refer  to  page;  light  ones  to  line.) 

AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 

The  editor  is  under  many  obligations  to  previous  editions  of  An  Inland 
Voyage  and  Travels  rvi'lli  a  Donkey,  especially  to  Professor  W.  L.  Cross 
and  Professor  Allan  Abbott. 

5.  Sir  Walter  Grindlay  Simpson,  Bart.  (Baronet).  It  was 
natural  that  Stevenson  should  dedicate  this  volume  to  the  com- 
panion of  his  voyage.  The  two  had  become  friends  as  students 
at  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  and  had  been  companions  on 
canoe,  yachting,  and  walking  voyages  for  several  years  preced- 
ing this  trip.  Simpson  was  the  son  of  Sir  James  Simpson,  who 
in  the  words  of  Stevenson  "  gave  chloroform  to  the  world." 
For  the  part  played  by  Simpson  and  other  friends  in  Stevenson's 
early  life  see  the  Introduction.  Stevenson  left  two  sketches  of 
his  friend;  one  may  be  found  in  Balfour's  Life  of  Ste<venson, 
Vol.  I,  pages  106-107,  and  the  other  in  the  character  of  Athel- 
red  in  "  Talks  and  Talkers  "  in  Memories  and  Portraits. 

5,  1-4.  Cigarette  and  Arethusa:  names  used  both  for  the 
canoes  and  for  Simpson  and  Stevenson  respectively.  Arethusa 
is  an  appropriate  name  because  of  the  association  of  the  nymph 
bearing  that  name  with  springs  and  the  river-god.  The  names 
might  well  have  been  reversed,  for  the  best-known  portraits  of 
Stevenson,  like  the  bas-relief  by  Saint  Gaudens,  represent  him 
with  a  cigarette  in  his  hand.  Stevenson's  reason  for  italicizing 
the  words  Cigarette  and  Arethusa  is  given  in  one  of  his  letters: 
"  a  practice  only  followed  in  my  two  affected  little  books  of 
travel,  where  a  typographical  minauderie  of  the  sort  appeared  to 
me  in  character."  For  the  reference  to  the  "derelict  Arethusa," 
see  the  chapter  in  this  volume  on   "  The  Oise  in  Flood." 

5,  15.  Burgee:  a  swallow-tail  flag  or  pennant;  in  the  mer- 
chant marine  service  it  generally  has  the  ship's  name  upon  it. 

265 


266  Notes  and  Comment 

5,  17-21.  We  projected  the  possession  of  a  canal  barge. 
When  the  two  friends  first  planned  the  canoe  voyage,  they  in- 
tended to  go  on  down  the  Loing  and  the  Loire,  the  Saone  and 
the  Rhone,  to  the  Mediterranean.  When  they  saw  the  canal 
barges  that  are  described  in  the  chapter  entitled  "  Sambre  and 
Oise  Canal:  Canal  Boats,"  they  decided  to  undertake  the  journey 
in  a  barge.  Stevenson's  cousin,  "  Bob "  Stevenson,  and  an 
American  friend,  the  artist  Will  H.  Low,  both  of  whom  were 
then  living  near  Fontainebleau,  joined  with  them  in  the  plan. 
They  bought  the  barge  and  named  it  The  Eleven  Thousand 
Virgins  of  Cologne — a  name  fancifully  suggested  by  the  legend 
of  the  massacre  of  St.  Ursula  and  the  11,000  virgins  by  the 
Huns  at  Cologne.     The  plan  was  soon   abandoned. 

7,  I.  Stevedore:  one  who  loads  and  unloads  the  holds  of 
vessels. 

8,  5.  Tied  my  sheet:  that  is,  by  a  rope  or  chain  from  the 
lower  corner  of  the  sail  to  extend  or  to  move  it.  To  tie  it  in- 
stead of  holding  it  indicates  recklessness  on  the  part  of  the 
sailor.  See  Stevenson's  "  ^s  Triplex,"  where  the  expression 
is  used  figuratively  to  express  his  own  attitude  to  life:  "It  is  a 
well-known  fact  that  an  immense  proportion  of  boat  accidents 
would  never  happen  if  people  held  the  sheet  in  their  hands  in- 
stead of  making  it  fast;  and  yet,  unless  it  be  some  martinet  of  a 
professional  mariner  or  some  landsman  with  shattered  nerves, 
every  one  of  God's  creatures  makes  it  fast.  A  strange  instance 
of  man's  unconcern  and  brazen  boldness  in  the  face  of  death." 

9,  26.  Bagman:  a  commercial  traveler  or  "drummer." 

10,  6.  Barnacled:  a  colloquial  expression  used  in  Scotland 
for  "  wearing  spectacles,"  probably  from  the  similarity  of  spec- 
tacles on  the  face  to  barnacles  on   ships. 

10,  22.  Miss  Howe  or  Miss  Harlowe.  The  story  of  Rich- 
ardson's novel,  Clarissa  Harloive,  one  of  the  first  English  novels 
(1748),  is  told  by  means  of  letters  that  pass  between  the  char- 
acters and  notably  between  Miss  Harlowe  and  her  friend  Miss 
Howe.  Stevenson  in  one  of  his  letters  expresses  his  great  admira- 
tion for  the  novel  and  his  desire  to  write  a  choice  work,  "  A 
Dialogue  on  Man,  Woman,  and  Clarissa  Harlowe":  "For  any 
man  who  takes  an  interest  in  the  problems  of  the  two  sexes,  that 
book  is  a  perfect  mine  of  documents.  And  it  is  written  with  the 
pen  of  an  angel.  .  ,  ,  Indeed,  I  can  do  nothing  but  recommend 
Clarissa." 


Notes  and  Comment  267 

10,  25.  The  divine  huntress:  Diana,  goddess  of  the  moon 
and  of  chastity. 

10,  27.  Anthony:  not  Mark  Antony  as  has  been  suggested, 
but  an  Egyptian  abbot  of  the  third  and  fourth  centuries,  who, 
by  reason  of  his  flight  from  the  world  to  a  sepulcher  and  other 
retired  places,  was  called  the  founder  of  asceticism.  In  his  re- 
tirement,  however,   he   suffered   many   temptations. 

10,  29.  Gymnosophist:  one  of  a  sect  of  ancient  Hindu 
philosophers  who  lived  solitarily  in  the  woods,  wore  little  cloth- 
ing, ate  no  flesh,  renounced  all  bodily  pleasures,  and  addicted 
themselves  to  mystical  contemplation. — Century  Dictionary. 

12,  17.  C'est  vite,  mais  c'est  long.  Literally,  "  It  is  quick, 
but  it  is  long." 

12,  23.  Dingy:  same  as  dingey,  a  small  boat  towed  behind 
a    larger    one.      The    "  g "    is    hard. 

14,  20.  Etna  cooking  apparatus:  a  vessel  consisting  of  an 
inverted  cone  placed  in  a  saucer,  used  for  heating  water  by 
burning  alcohol. 

14,  23.  A  la  papier:  "in  paper." 

15,  I.  Loo-warm:   the   same   as   luke-ivarm. 

15,  30.  Sterlings:  pronounced  and  usually  spelt  starlings; 
piles  driven  closely  together  to  serve  as  breakwater. 

15,  34.  Old  Dutch  print.  The  old  Dutch  painters  were 
noted  for  their  faithful  reproduction  of  commonplace  characters 
and   incidents. 

16,  3.  Trepanned:  cut  into  the  skull  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
moving pressure  on  the  brain. 

17,  4.  Allee  Verte:  "Green  Walk  or  Lane,"  consisting  of  a 
double  avenue  of  limes  extending  along  the  canal  from  Brussels 
toward  Laeken. 

17,  10.  Estaminet:  a  cheap  coffee-house,  where  smoking  is 
allowed. 

17,  27.  "Royal  Sport  Nautique":  "Royal  Nautical  Sport." 

18,  7.  French  Huguenots.  After  the  Revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  (1685),  thousands  of  French  Protestants  fled 
to  England  and  America.  One  reason  why  they  were  not  very 
well  treated  in  England  was  that  by  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century  the  reaction  against  Puritanism  had  set  in.  See  the 
"  Country  of  the  Camisards  "  in  Travels  ivit/i  a  Donkey  for  an 
account  of  their  persecutions  in  France. 

18,  31.  Entre  freres:  "  between  brothers." 


268  Notes  and  Comment 

i8,  33.  En  Angleterre,  etc.:  "In  England  you  use  sliding- 
seats,  don't  you  ?  " 

19,  2.  Voyez   .    .    .   serieux:   "You  see,  we  are  in  earnest." 

19,  21.  The  interest  they  took  in  their  business.  See 
Stevenson's  "Apology  for  Idlers":  "Perpetual  devotion  to  what 
a  man  calls  his  business  is  only  to  be  sustained  by  perpetual 
neglect  of  many  other  things.  And  it  is  by  no  means  certain 
that  a  man's  business  is  the  most  important  thing  he  has  to  do." 

20,  8-9.  Mammon  .  .  .  Heaven:  one  of  the  leaders  of 
Satan's  hosts,  described  more  fully  in  the  first  two  books  of 
Paradise  Lost  and  more  particularly  in  the  first  book,  lines  679- 
688. 

20,  26.  Prophets  were  unpopular  in  Judea.  What  saying 
of  Jesus  does  this  suggest? 

21,  23.  Drive  the  coursers  of  the  sun.  Phaeton  obtained 
permission  from  Apollo  to  drive  the  sun  across  the  heavens,  but, 
unable  to  control  the  horses,  came  near  setting  the  world  on  fire. 

23,  II.  A  marked  man  for  the  official  eye.  In  the  "Epi- 
logue to  an  Inland  Voyage,"  published  in  Across  the  Plains, 
ivitfi  Other  Memories  and  Essays,  Stevenson  tells  of  an  experi- 
ence that  he  had  on  a  walking  tour  in  the  Loing  Valley,  when  he 
was  taken  for  a  spy  and  imprisoned  for  several  hours. 

23,  15.  From  China  to  Peru.  Abbott  cites  the  lines  from  Dr. 
Johnson's  Vanity  of  Human   f Fishes: 

"  Let  observation,  with  extensive  view, 
Survey  mankind   from   China  to  Peru." 

23,  19.  Murray  in  hand.  John  Murray  of  London  published 
guide-books  for  all  the  important  countries  of  Europe.  They 
have  been  largely  supplanted  to-day  by  Baedeker's. 

24,  6.  Knolled  to  church:  a  felicitous  allusion  to  As  You 
Like  It,  II,  vii,  119-121: 

"  True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days. 
And   have   with   holy  bell   been  knolled   to  church, 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts." 

24,  20.  Grand  Cerf :  "  Great  Stag."  Compare  the  names  of 
other  inns  in  this  volume. 

25,  7.  Coenacula:  originally  the  upper  rooms  in  which  feasts 
were  held ;   then  the  feasts  themselves,  as  here. 

26,  21.  Drake:  Sir  Francis  Drake  (i540?-i596),  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  explorers  and  navigators  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.    Among  other  exploits  he  made  conquests  in  the  West 


Notes  and  Comment  269 

Indies,  discovered  the  Pacific,  and  circumnavigated  the  globe. 
See  Stevenson's  essay  "  The  English  Admirals "  in  Virginibus 
Puerisqjie. 

28,  15.  Pollards:  trees  shorn  of  their  tops  so  that  they  put 
out  dense  heads  of  slender  shoots. 

31,  8.  Hainaulters:  inhabitants  of  Hainault,  a  province  of 
Belgium  bordering  on  France. 

31,  21.  A  far  way  from  here.  Compare  the  Scotch  expres- 
sion, "  We're  far  frae  hame,"  which  Stevenson  could  never  hear 
without  being  affected  as  in  this  passage.  See  the  chapter  in 
"  The  Scot  Abroad "  in  Silverado  Squatters,  and  many  letters 
written  in  the  far  away  islands  of  the  South  Seas.  "  Let  me 
hear  in  some  far  land,  a  kindred  voice  sing  out,  '  O  why  left  I 
my  hame?  ' — and  it  seems  as  if  no  beauty  under  the  kind  heavens 
and  no  society  of  the  wise  and  good  can  repay  me  for  my  ab- 
sence from  my  country."  Again,  Alan  Breck  says  in  Kidnapped 
that  "  France  is  a  braw  place,  nae  doubt,  but  I  weary  for  the 
heather   and  the   deer." 

32,  17.  Trousered.  The  French  verb  culotter,  used  of  a  per- 
son, means  to  put  him  in  trousers;  of  a  pipe,  to  color  it;  hence, 
stained  with  nicotine. 

32,  24.  Sabots:  wooden  shoes  worn  by  French  peasants. 

32,  27.  Amphora:  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans  a  vessel, 
usually  tall  and  slender,  having  two  handles  or  ears,  a  narrow 
neck,  and  generally  a  sharp  pointed  base  .  .  .  used  for  holding 
wine,    oil,    honey. — Century   Dictionary. 

33,  2.  Francs.    A  franc  is  approximately  twenty  cents. 
33,  3.  Brave:  fine,  handsome. 

33,  4.  Caparison:  in  the  Middle  Ages,  an  ornamental  robe 
thrown  over   a  horse;    hence   any   rich   trappings. 

34,  22.  Jove  .  .  .  adventure.  There  are  many  mythological 
stories  of  Jupiter  and  the  other  gods  wandering  from  Olympus 
to  the  earth  and  being  guided  or  entertained  by  unsuspecting 
mortals. 

36,  17.  Auberge:  "an  inn." 

37,  20.  Bread-berry:  made  by  pouring  boiling  water  on 
toasted  bread  and  then  sweetening  it;  it  is  generally  a  food  for 
sick  people. 

37,  22.  Swipes:   a  vulgarism  for  poor  washy  beer. 
37,  32.  Hedge:  of  such  kind  as  is  met  by  the  wayside;  hence, 
mean,    inferior. 


270  Notes  and  Comment 

38,  8.  Lucretian  maxim.  Lucretius  was  a  Roman  philoso- 
pher and  poet  of  the  first  century  B.C.  Stevenson  probably  had 
no  particular  maxim  in  mind. 

39,  5.  Lilies  and  skylarks.  Christ's  remark  about  the  lilies 
of  the  field  readily  suggests  itself.  Shelley  in  his  poem  on  the 
skylark  dwells  upon  the  difference  between  the  joyful,  rapturous 
life  of  the  skylark  and  the  melancholy  life  of  the  human 
race. 

40,  I.  Moliere's  farce.  In  Les  Precieuscs  Ridicules  Moliere, 
the  greatest  of  French  dramatists,  represents  some  noblemen 
breaking  suddenly  in  upon  their  lady  loves,  who  are  being 
entertained    by    lackeys   disguised    as   noblemen. 

40,  22.  Kepi:  a  flat-topped  military  cap  with  horizontal  vizor. 

41,  16.  Galette:  a  broad  thin  cake. 

45,  3.  Voila  .  .  .  debarbouiller:  "There's  some  water  for 
washing  your  faces." 

45,  11-12.  Waterloo  .  .  .  Austerlitz.  A  Frenchman  would 
naturally  prefer  to  call  the  firecrackers  after  one  of  his  coun- 
try's victories,  Austerlitz  for  example,  rather  than  Waterloo, 
which  would  remind  him  of  France's  greatest  disaster.  Like- 
wise he  would  not  relish  the  numerous  reminders  of  Waterloo 
in  arriving  from  Southampton  at  the  Waterloo  station  in  Lon- 
don, or  in  crossing  the  Waterloo  bridge  in  the  city. 

45,  18.  Kilometer:  in  the  metric  system  about  five-eighths 
of   a   mile. 

46,  15.  Mormal.  The  word  means  "an  inflamed  sore." 
Stevenson  may  also  have  in  mind  the  etymology  of  the  word — 
mort,  dead,  and  mal,  evil. 

47,  9.  I  wish  our  way  had  always  lain  among  woods. 
For  Stevenson's  love  of  the  forest  see  Travels  ivit/i  a  Donkey 
and  the  essays  "  Forest  Notes  "  and  "  Fontainebleau." 

47,  20.  Heine.  Heinrich  Heine  (1797-1856)  was  the  only 
German  poet  except  Goethe  that  Stevenson  knew  anything  about. 
His  Harzreise,  an  account  of  a  journey  through  the  Harz 
mountains,  may  have  been  read  by  Stevenson  when  he  and  Simp- 
son walked  through  the  same  mountains  in  1872. 

47,  21.  Merlin  .  .  .  Broceliande.  In  Tennyson's  Idylls  of 
the  King,  Merlin,  the  great  magician  of  King  Arthur's  court 
and  the  founder  of  the  Round  Table,  and  Vivien,  the  slanderer, 
flee  to  the  wild  woods  of  Broceliande,  where  in  the  midst  of 
a  fearful  storm  Vivien  gets  from  him  his  secret: 


Notes  and  Comment  271 


"  Then,  in  one  moment,  she  put  forth  the  charm 
Of  woven  paces  and  of  waving  hands. 
And  in  the  hollow  oak  he  lay  as  dead. 
And  lost  to  life  and  use  and  name  and  fame." 
48,  13-  Jeremiads:  a  reference  to  the  Book  of  Lamentations 
by  the  Hebrew  prophet,  Jeremiah. 

50,  13.  Bedlamite:  a  madman;  originally  an  inmate  of  Bed- 
lam,  a  London   hospital   for  the  insane. 

50,  23.  Marshal  Clarke:  one  of  Napoleon's  generals,  and,  as 
his  epitaph  reminds  us,  sometime  minister  of  war. 

50,  26.  Reveilles:  a  signal  by  drum  or  bugle  notifying  sol- 
diers that  it  is  time  to  rise  and  for  sentinels  to  cease  challenging. 

51,  21.  Lyonnese  costermongers:  street  hawkers  of  fruits 
and  vegetables.  The  principal  city  of  Lyonnais,  an  ancient  prov- 
ince of  France,  was  Lyons. 

51,  25.  Alma  and  Spicheren.  The  first  is  a  river  in  Crimea, 
near  the  mouth  of  which  in  1854  the  Russians  were  defeated 
by  the  Allies,  and  the  latter  a  village  in  Lorraine,  Germany, 
where  the   Germans  defeated  the   French   in    1870. 

51,  33.  Your  dull  ass  will  not  mend  his  pace.  See  Steven- 
son's experience  in   Travels  ifit/i  a  Donkey. 

52,  26.  Juge  de  Paix:  in  France  an  officer  of  more  importance 
than  our  "justice  of  the  peace." 

52,  27.  Sheriff  Substitute.  The  chief  sheriff,  usually  called 
simply  the  sheriff,  may  have  more  than  one  substitute  under  him, 
and  the  discharge  of  the  greater  part  of  the  duties  of  the  office 
now  rests  with  the  sheriff  substitutes,  the  sheriff  being  a  prac- 
tising advocate  in  Edinburgh,  while  the  sheriff-substitute  is  pro- 
hibited from  taking  other  employment,  and  must  reside  within  his 
county. — Century  Dictionary. 

55,  10.  Archangel:  the  chief  commercial  town  in  the  north 
of  Russia,  and   long  the  only  seaport. 

55,  14.  Loch  Carron:  a  lake  on  the  western  coast  of  Scot- 
land, where  Stevenson's  friend,  Professor  Jenkin,  lived. 

58,  6.  Rouen:  formerly  the  capital  of  Normandy,  now  an 
important  point  on  the  Seine. 

58,  27.  Canaletti.  Literally  the  word  means  little  canals; 
Stevenson  uses  the  word  to  signify  those  who  live  on  the  canal 
barges. 

58,  30.  Cependant:   nevertheless. 

59,  12.  Mr.  Moens.     The  book  referred  to  is  Through  France 


272  Notes  and  Comment 

and  Belgium   by  River  and  Canal  in  the  Steam    Yacht   Ytene, 
R.r.Y.C.    (1876). 

60,  28.  Colza:  a  plant  grown  for  its  oily  seeds. 

61,  26.  Pan  once  played  upon  their  forefathers.  The  story 
was  deeply  significant  to  Stevenson.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  says: 
"  There  is  more  sense  in  that  Greek  myth  of  Pan  than  in  any 
other  that  I  recollect  except  the  luminous  Hebrew  one  of  the 
Fall."  In  his  essays  on  Pan's  Pipes  in  Virginibus  Puerisque  he 
says:  "The  Greeks  figured  Pan,  the  god  of  Nature,  now  terribly 
stamping  his  foot,  so  that  armies  were  dispersed ;  now  by  the 
woodside  on  a  summer  noon  trolling  on  his  pipe  until  he  charmed 
the  hearts  of  upland  plowmen.  And  the  Greeks  in  so  doing 
uttered  the  last  word  of  human  experience."  He  then  interprets 
the  good  and  the  bad  effects  of  Pan's  music  as  symbolic  of  the 
two  forces  in  nature  and  in  human  life. 

61,  33.  Centaur  .  .  .  nymph.  In  Greek  mythology,  the 
Centaur  was  a  monster  half-man  and  half-horse.  The  reference 
here  is  to  a  legend  that  at  a  certain  marriage  the  Centaurs  car- 
ried away  the  bride  and  other  women. 

62,  31.  Every  bit  of  brisk  living,  etc.  Elsewhere  Stevenson 
says:  "If  only  I  could  secure  a  violent  death,  what  a  fine  suc- 
cess! I  wish  to  die  in  my  boots;  no  more  land  of  counterpane 
for  me.  To  be  drowned,  to  be  shot,  to  be  thrown  from  a  horse 
— aye,  to  be  hanged  rather  than  pass  through  that  slow  dis- 
solution." 

63,  19-20.  Burns  .  .  .  Mountain  Daisy:  a  reference  to 
Robert  Burns's  poem,  To  a  Mountain  Daisy. 

63,  28-30.  The  spinners  and  the  young  maids,  etc.: 
"  O,  fellow,  come,  the  song  we  had  last  night! 

Mark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain; 

The   spinsters   and   the   knitters   in   the   sun, 

And  the  free  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones 

Do  use  to  chant  it:  it  is  silly  sooth. 

And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 

Like  the  old  age." — Tiveifth  Night,  II,  iv,  42-46. 

64,  7.  Heritors:  in  Scotland  such  proprietors  of  land  or  houses 
as   are   liable  for   taxation. 

64,  12.  Birmingham-hearted  substitutes:  bells  manufactured 
in  Birmingham,  England.  For  a  passage  on  Stevenson's  delight 
in  bells,  see  Travels  ivith  a  Donkey. 

68,  9.  O  France,  mes  amours:  "O  France,  my  love." 


Notes  and  Comment  273 

68,  16.  Les  malheurs  de  France:  "The  misfortunes  of 
France." 

68,  26.  Against  the  Empire:  that  is,  many  Frenchmen  did 
not  blame  Germany  so  much  as  Napoleon  the  Third,  who  was 
responsible  for  the  war  and,  therefore,  for  the  loss  of  Alsace  and 
Lorraine. 

69,  3.  Farmer  George:  George  the  Third,  so  called  from 
his  simple  appearance  and  manners,  and  his  interest  in  a  farm 
near  Windsor. — Abbott. 

69,  19.  Caudine  Forks:  two  passes  in  the  mountains  of  Italy 
where  the  Romans  suffered  a  humiliating  defeat  by  the  Samnites 
(321  B.C.). 
69,  22.  Conscrits  Frangais:  "  French  conscripts." 
69,  29.  Fletcher  of  Saltoun:  Andrew  Fletcher  (1655-1716), 
a  Scotch  politician  and  political  writer,  now  chiefly  remembered 
as  having  said:  "If  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the  bal- 
lads, he  need  not  care  who  made  the  laws  of  a  nation." 

69,  33.  Paul  Deroulede:  a  French  poet  and  politician,  who 
in  addition  to  writing  the  volume  referred  to  here,  Chants  du 
Soldat  {"Songs  of  the  Soldier"),  organized  the  League  of 
Patriots,  whose  object  was  to  arouse  the  patriotic  feeling  of 
the  nation   against   Germany. 

70,  33.  Othello  over  again.  The  lines  in  Shakespeare's 
Othello,  I,  iii,  128-170,  are  alluded  to;  especially  appropriate  to 
Stevenson's   recital   would   be: 

"I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances; 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field ; 
Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  i'  th'  imminent  deadly  breach." 
74,  1 8.  Tristes  tetes  de  Danois:  "Sad  Danish  heads." 

74,  19.  Gaston  Lafenestre.  The  words  of  Stevenson  give 
sufficient  information.  The  importance  of  this  and  the  fol- 
lowing paragraphs  is  the  light  they  throw  on  Stevenson's  life 
with  the  artists  at  Fontainebleau  and  Barbizon.  The  inn  re- 
ferred to  is  Siron's,  the  free  and  easy  life  of  which  is  set  forth 
in  the  author's  essay  on  Fontainebleau.     See  the  Introduction. 

75,  21.  Jacques:  Charles  Emile  Jacques  (1813-1894),  a 
French  painter  and  engraver,  author  of  admirable  water-colors, 
the  subjects  of  which  are  generally  taken  from  the  life  of  the 
fields. 

75,  24.  National  Gallery:  the  principal  art  gallery  of  Eng- 
land, situated  on  Trafalgar  Square  in  London. 


274  Notes  and  Comment 

76,  23.  Proletarian:  one  of  the  common  people;  specifically,  a 
day   laborer. 

77,  19.  Pro  indiviso:  "  all  together." 

77,  23.  Eh  bien!  sacristi:  "Well!   Thunder!" 

78,  13.  Eh  bien,  quoi,  c'est  magnifique:  "  Well !  ah, — that's 
magnificent !  " 

79,  4-6.  Inquisition:  a  court  or  tribunal  established  by  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  for  the  examination  and  punishment  of 
heretics.  Stevenson  suggests  that  the  best  way  for  a  modern  to 
understand  what  the  tortures  were  is  to  read  Edgar  Allan  Poe's 
story,  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,  and  Corporal  Trim's  sermon 
in  Tristram  Shandy,  a  novel  written  by  Laurence  Sterne  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  corporal's  brother  had  been  a  captive 
for   fifteen   years. 

79,  23.  Nanty  Ewart:  a  captain  of  a  smuggling  vessel  in 
Scott's  Redgauntlet. 

79,  31-2.  Communist  .  .  .  Communard.  A  communist  is 
a  socialist  who  wants  to  have  goods  in  common.  A  communard 
is  a  person  who  wishes  for  an  extreme  development  of  local 
government.  In  1871  the  Communards  of  Paris  wished  to  make 
Paris   an  independent  government. 

81,  3.  Cock-and-bull  story:  an  incredible  and  absurd  story; 
in  allusion  to  some  fable  about  a  cock  and  bull,  or  in  general 
allusion  to  the  strain  on  credulity  produced  by  the  fables  of 
.i^sop  and  his  imitators,  in  which  cocks  moralize  and  bulls  de- 
bate.— Century  Dictionary. 

84,  34.  Siphon:  a  pipe  through  which  the  river  was  carried 
under   the   canal. 

85,  14.  Siege  of  La  Fere.  The  town  was  bombarded  and 
captured  by  the  Germans   (Prussians)    in  1870. 

85,  14.  Niirnberg  figures.     Niirnberg   (Nuremberg)    in   Ger- 
many is  famous  for  its  toys,  dolls,  and  carved  wooden  figures. 
85,  21.  C'est  bon,  n'est-ce  pas?     "It  is  good,  isn't  it?" 
89,  3.  Timon:    hero    of    Shakespeare's    Timon    of   Athens,    a 
typical  misanthrope. 

89,  29.  Bazin  .  .  .  de  Malte:  "  Bazin,  innkeeper;  lodging 
for  pedestrians.     At  the  Maltese   Cross." 

90,  9-10.  Zola's  description.  Cross  locates  the  passage  in 
L'Assommoir,  chapter  three — a  realistic  novel  of  the  working- 
class  of  Paris.  Emile  Zola  (1840-1902)  was  the  originator  of 
the  naturalistic  novel  of  France  that  has  had  such  a  great  influ- 


Notes  and  Comment  275 

ence  on  European  literature.  The  Louvre  is  the  leading  art 
gallery  of  Paris  and  by  many  considered  the  greatest  in  the 
world. 

94,  10.  Hotel  de  Ville:  "Town  Hall." 

94,  15.  Hotel  du  Nord:  "  Northern  Hotel." 

95,  9.  Sacristan:  an  officer  of  a  cathedral  or  monastery  who 
has  charge  of  the  treasures  of  the  church  and  who  arranges 
all  objects  for  divine  service. 

96,  9 — 98,  5.  Miserere  .  .  .  Jubilate  Deo  .  .  .  Ave  Maria. 
These  are  all  hymns  used  in  the  services  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church, — the  fine  old  Latin  hymns  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
first  is  the  beginning  of  the  Fifty-first  Psalm  as  found  in  the 
Vulgate  Bible, — "Have  pity  upon  me,  O  Lord";  the  second 
suggests  the  beginning  of  the  Sixty-sixth  and  the  Hundredth 
Psalms,  "Shout  for  joy  unto  the  Lord";  while  the  third  is  the 
Hymn  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  "  Hail  Mary,  pray  for  us." 

100,  14.  Deo  Gratias  .  .  .  Four  Sons  of  Aymon.  The 
names  of  these  canal  barges  are  as  fanciful  as  those  of  the 
canoes  of  Stevenson  and  his  companion.  The  former  is  a 
Latin  expression,  meaning  "  Thanks  to  God,"  and  the  latter 
suggests  a  romance  of  the  Middle  Ages  of  that  name. 

103,  23.  Louis  XII:  king  of  France  (1498-1515),  called  the 
father   of   his   people. 

104,  18.  Niirnberg  clock.  See  note  on  Niirnberg  figures, 
page  85. 

104,  25.  Via  Dolorosa:  the  way  along  which  Christ  walked 
to  Golgotha,   hence  the  "  Dolorous  Way." 

108,  30.  Feuilletons:  in  French  newspapers,  a  part  of  one 
or  more  pages  (the  bottom)  devoted  to  literature  or  criticism, 
and  generally  marked  off  from  the  rest  of  the  page  by  a  heavy 
line.     Frequently,  as  in  this  case,  the  feuilleton  is  a  serial  story. 

109,  28.  Sauterne:  white  wine  from  the  district  of  Sauterne 
near  Bordeaux.  Compare  the  district  called  Champagne  in  the 
passage  on  page  100,  line  24. 

109,  34.  Bradshaw's  Guide:  a  large  book  giving  the  rail- 
road time-tables  of  all  European  countries;  so  called  from 
George  Bradshaw,  the  originator. 

iro,  4.  Walt  Whitman:  an  American  poet  (1819-1892). 
For  his  influence  on  Stevenson  see  the  essay  on  Whitman  in 
Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books. 

Ill,  24.  Nirvana:  a  condition  in  which  one  loses  individual 


276  Notes  and  Comment 

consciousness,  the  absorption  of  the  soul  into  the  All-Soul — a 
state  to  which  the  followers  of  Buddha  aspire  as  the  highest 
good. 

114,  10.  Great  Assizes:  the  Last  Judgment;  originally  a 
session  of  a  court  for  trial  by  jury. 

115,  33.  Ex  voto:  "as  a  votive  offering." 

116,  20.  Saint  Joseph:  the  husband  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

117,  i6.  Saint  Dominic.  As  founder  of  the  order  of  the 
Dominicans,  he  would  naturally  be  honored  in  Roman  Catholic 
churches;  while  as  the  originator  of  the  rosary  (a  chaplet  of 
beads  used  in  honor  of  the  Virgin),  he  would  be  especially 
commemorated  by  the  Association  of  the  Living  Rosary  men- 
tioned  by   Stevenson. 

117,  17.  Saint  Catherine  of  Sienna:  an  Italian  saint  who 
joined   the  order   of   St.   Dominic. 

117,  24.  Zelatrice:  a  nun  especially  zealous  in  the  work  of  the 
sisterhood  to  which  she  belonged. 

117,  25.  Choragus:  in  Greece,  the  leader  of  a  chorus  or 
superintendent  of  a  theatrical  representation ;  here,  leader  of  a 
chorus. 

117,  28.  Dizaine:  ten  prayers. 

118,  7.  Exciseman.  Burns  was  a  revenue  officer  in  his  last 
years. 

118,  26.  Euclid:  a  Greek  mathematician,  whose  geometry  was 
formerly   in   general    use. 

120,  12.  Marionettes:  puppets  moved  by  strings,  as  on  a 
mimic  theatrical  stage,  to  imitate  human  or  animal  movements. 

120,  22.  Bumper  house:  crowded  house. 

122,  10.  English  aff-'n-aff:  English  half  and  half;  a  mix- 
ture of  porter  and  ale. 

122,  29.  " 'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost":  quoted 
from  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam,  XXVII. 

122,  31.  Endymion:  a  beautiful  youth  in  Greek  legend.  He 
was  beloved  by  Selene  (the  moon),  who  put  him  to  sleep  in  a 
cave  on  Mount  Latmus.  In  the  line  below,  Stevenson  is  think- 
ing of  the  appearance  of  the  goddess  to  the  young  man,  as  de- 
scribed by  Keats  in  his  poem  Endymion. 

122,  31.  Audrey:  a  country  girl  in  Shakespeare's  As  You  Like 
It. 

123,  16.  A  wandering  violinist.  One  of  Stevenson's  best 
short  stories  is  Providence  and  the  Guitar,  based  on  the  wan- 


Notes  and  Comment  277 

derings   of    a   strolling   player   and   his   wife   whom   he   met    at 
Grez. 

123,  13.  Chateau  Landon:  a  village  in  the  valley  of  the 
Loing,  twenty  miles  south  of  Fontainebleau.  Stevenson  and  his 
friend  had  taken  a  walking  trip  along  the  valley  in  the  year 
preceding  the  canoe  voyage.  This  place,  like  all  the  region 
round  about  Fontainebleau,  belonged  to  the  division  of  France 
known  as  the  Department  of  Seine  and  Marne. 

124,  27-35.  Mesdames  .  .  .  trompe.  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men. Mademoiselle  Ferrario  and  Monsieur  de  Vauversin  will 
have  the  honor  of  singing  this  evening  the  following  pieces. 
Mademoiselle  Ferrario  will  sing  '  Mignon,'  '  Birds  on  the  Wing,' 
'  France,'  '  Frenchmen  sleep  there,'  '  The  Blue  Castle,'  '  Where 
are  you  going?'  M.  de  Vauversin  will  sing  'Madame  Fontaine 
and  Monsieur  Robinet,'  '  The  Divers  on  Horseback,'  '  The  Dis- 
contented Husband,'  '  Be  Quiet,  Boy,'  '  My  Queer  Neighbor,' 
'  Happy  like  That,'  '  How  We  are  Deceived.'  " 

125,  I.  Salle-a-manger:  "dining-room." 

125,  15-19.  Chatelet  .  .  .  Alcazar:  a  well-known  theater  and 
a  music   hall   in   Paris. 

125,  34.  Maire:  "mayor." 

127,  2.  Tenez  .  .  .  dire:  "See  here,  gentlemen,  I  will  tell 
you." 

127,  19.  Pyramus  and  Thisbe:  the  story  of  two  lovers  of 
Babylon,  first  told  by  Ovid  in  his  Metamorphoses,  and  played 
by  Bottom  and  his  fellow-actors  in  Shakespeare's  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream. 

127,  20.  Alexandrines:  lines  of  verse  with  six  iambic  feet, 
the  most  frequently  used  form  of  verse  in  French.  The  name  is 
due  to  the  use  of  the  line  in  the  French  romances  on  Alexander 
the  Great. 

127,  27.  Unities  .  .  .  classical  rules.  The  French,  of  all 
modern  people,  have  maintained  the  so-called  classical  rules 
that  the  events  of  a  drama  should  be  represented  as  occurring 
in  one  place  alone  (unity  of  place),  that  the  time  should  not 
extend  over  twenty-four  hours  (unity  of  time),  and  that  the 
plot  should  be  simple   (unity  of  plot). 

127,  31.  Patois:  a  dialect  of  the  province  as  contrasted  with 
the  French  of  Paris. 

129,  7.  Th6ophile  Gautier:  a  French  poet,  essayist,  and 
novelist   (1811-1872). 


278  Notes  and  Comment 


Questions  and  Topics  for  Discussion 

/i.  At  what  period  of  his  life  and  under  what  circumstances 
did  Stevenson  take  the  "inland  voyage"?  2.  What  can  you  say 
as  to  his  companion  as  reve_)aled  in  the  notes,  the  preface,  and  ia 
the  book  itself?  ^  What , we  re  some  of  Stevenson's  character- 
istics as  a  traveler?  ^  Give' some  idea  of  the  canoes  and  of 
the  part  they  play  in  the  story.  5.  With  the  aid  of  the  map  and 
the  text  make  out  a  plan  of  the,  journey  day  by  day.  1^.  Com- 
ment on  the  variety  of  scenes  along  the  rivers  ^and  canals,  not- 
ing in  detail  some  of  the  most  important  descriptive  passages 
as  showing  the  author's  love  of  nature.  7.  What  experiences  do 
they  have  at  the  various  inns?  %.  What  were  some  of  the  most 
agreeable  and  disagreeable  incidents  of  the  voyage?„(5r  Char- 
acterize some  of  the  most  picturesque  types  seen  aloiig  the  way, 
noting  especially  the  children,  the  fishermen,  the  Royal  Nautical 
Sportsmen,  the  driver  of  the  hotel  omnibus,  the  traveling 
merchant  and  his  family,  the  family  living  on  the  canal  barge, 
the  solitary  plowman,  the  strolling  players  and  actors,  the 
proietarraTr-and-  his-friefKis,  the  Bazins,  and  the  three  girls  of 
Origny  Sainte-Benoite.  i^'Wh^t  may  be  learned  of  French 
characteristics  and  customs  from  the  book,  and  what  contrasts 
between  the  French  and  the  English  are  noted?^  Do  any  pas- 
sages indicate  the  author's.  Scotch  birth  and  training?  11. 
What  is  said  of  the  patriotic  songs  of  France?  12.  Comment 
on  the  author's  views  of  forests  and  cathedrals.  13.  Comment 
on  his  use  of  classical  stories,  such  as  Diana  and  the  nymphs, 
and  Pan  and  his  reeds.  Q)  Select  some  short  essays  from  the 
volume,  indicating  the  author's  views  of  life,  as,  for  instance, 
the  relative  importance  of  business  and  leisure,  the  evil  of 
cynicism,  the  necessity  for  charity  and  tolerance,  the  good  and  the 
evil  aspects  of  nature,  etc.  15.  Quote  some  of  the  best  sentences. 
a6>,  Give  illustrations  of  Stevenson's  apt  use  of  quotation  from 
other  writers.  Did  he  always  quote  accurately?  17.  Study  in 
detail  three  or  four  of  the  best  chapters  of  the  book,  and  draw 
some  conclusions  as  to  Stevenson's  style — his  use  of  similes  and 
metaphors,  alliteration,  melody,  vividness  of  narration,  beauty 
of   description,   etc.      18.  Give   some   illustrations   of   his    humor. 


TRAVELS   WITH 
A   DONKEY 

Houte  of  Ti-avel: 

/HI) 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY 

133,  I.  Sidney  Colvin:  an  English  critic;  formerly  Professor 
of  Fine  Arts  at  Cambridge,  he  has  been  for  many  years  keeper 
of  prints  and  drawings  in  the  British  Museum.  For  his  rela- 
tion to  Stevenson  see  the  Introduction  and  the  Descriptive 
Bibliography.  He  was  Stevenson's  intimate  friend  and  his 
literary   executor. 

I33»  5-  John  Bunyan  (1628-1688)  :  author  of  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress, to  which  there  are  many  references  in  Stevenson's  letters 
and  books.  It  is  included  in  his  essay  on  "  Books  Which  Have 
Influenced  Me  "  as  one  of  the  formative  influences  on  his  life 
and  style. 

135'  (Quotation).  Antigone:  a  Greek  play  by  Sophocles,  a 
Greek  dramatist  of  the  fourth  century  B.C.  The  passage  is  a 
free  translation  of  lines  332-352.  For  the  Biblical  quotation, 
see  Job,  xxxix,  5. 

137,  I.  Le  Monastier.  In  an  extended  essay  entitled  "A 
Mountain  Town  in  France,"  Stevenson  writes  in  a  charming 
way  of  this  village  and  of  his  experiences  there. 

137.  6-7.  Legitimists  .  .  .  Republicans.  The  Legitimists 
were  supporters  of  the  elder  Bourbon  line  of  Louis  XIV,  the 
reigning  line  deposed  by  the  French  Revolution;  their  suc- 
cessors were  restored  for  a  short  period  after  the  downfall  of 
Napoleon.  The  Orleanists  were  supporters  of  the  Orleans 
branch  of  the  French  royal  family  descended  from  Louis  XIV's 
younger  brother,  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  After  the  overthrow 
of  the  Bourbons  in  1830,  one  of  the  Orleanists,  Philippe  Egalite, 
reigned  till  the  Revolution  of  1848,  when  the  second  Republic 
was  founded.  In  1852  Napoleon  the  Third  restored  the  Em- 
pire, and  the  Imperialists  were  in  power  till  1870,  when  the 
third  Republic  was  established.  Since  that  date  the  Republicans 
have  been  in  power.  These  parties  still  exist  in  France,  and 
the  various  descendants  of  the  three  royal  families,  though  liv- 
ing in  exile,  maintain  their  rights  to  the  throne.  Stevenson 
281 


282  Notes  and  Comment 

does  not  exaggerate  the  bitterness  of  these  royal  party  disputes. 
If  he  were  writing  to-day  he  would  have  to  add  another  party  to 
the  list,  the  Socialist.  See  the  passage  in  the  Inland  Voyage  on 
the  proletarian,  pages  76  fl. 

138,  I.  Poland.  This  comparison  is  suggested  twice  more  in 
this  book.  Find  the  passages.  Poland,  on  account  of  its  fre- 
quent partitions  by  the  surrounding  nations,  Russia,  Prussia,  and 
Austria,  was  a  fit  symbol  of  political  confusion,  as  is  also 
Babylon,  from  its  association  with  the  Tower  of  Babel,  whence 
came  the  confusion  of  tongues. 

138,  9.  Cevennes:  a  range  of  mountains  in  Southwestern 
France. 

139,  19.  Respirator:  a  device,  as  a  screen  of  fine  wire  or 
gauze,  worn  over  the  mouth  or  nose;  used  by  persons  having 
weak  lungs,  to  moderate  or  sift  the  air. 

141,  9.  Spencer:  a  coat  like  a  buttoned  sweater. 

141,  18.  Beaujolais:  a  wine  named,  like  other  French  wines, 
from  the  district  which  produces  it. 

141,  28.  Vaticinations:   predictions. 

141,  29.  Christian:  the  hero  of  Pilgrim's  Progress;  his  pack 
is  the  burden  of  his  sins. 

145,  26.  Et  vous  marchez  comme  ga!  "And  you  walk  like 
that !  " 

146,  3.  Deus  ex  machina:  a  Latin  expression,  meaning  "a 
god  (let  down)  from  the  machine";  an  allusion  to  ancient 
theatrical  machinery  when  a  god  suddenly  appeared  to  solve  an 
intricate  plot.  The  peasant  had  helped  Stevenson  in  time  of 
need. 

146,  23.  A  countryman  of  the  Sabbath.  The  strict  observ- 
ance of  Sunday  by  the  Puritans  and  Scotch  Presbyterians  has 
become  proverbial.  The  "ascetic  feast"  is  a  felicitous  allusion 
to  the  cold  Sunday  dinners. 

147,  10.  Homer's  Cyclops.  Abbott  cites  the  Odyssey,  Bk. 
IX,  and  translates:  "Here  a  man-monster  slept,  who  shepherded 
his  flock  alone  and  far  apart;  with  others  he  did  not  mingle, 
but  quite  aloof  followed  his  lawless  ways." 

147,  23.  Like  a  sucking-dove:  an  allusion  to  Bottom  the 
weaver's  words  in  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  I,  ii.  84:  "I  will 
aggravate  my  voice  that  I  will  roar  you  as  gently  as  any  sucking- 
dove." 

148,  23.  Hypothec.     From  its  original  meaning  of  the  lien 


Notes  and   Comment  283 

that  the  Scotch  landlord  took  on  the  crop  and  stock  of  his 
tenant,  the  word  came  to  be  used  colloquially  for  "  the  whole 
lot  "  or  "  the  whole  substance." 

149,  16.  Acolytes.  The  name  is  given  to  those  who  belong 
to  the  highest  of  the  four  minor  orders  of  the  clergy;  their  duty 
is  to  carry  the  wine  and  water  and  lights  in  the  ceremonies  of 
the  church. 

150,  12.  Cruelly  I  chastised  her.  See  the  passage  in  An  In- 
land Voyage,  p.  51. 

i55>  5-  Dur  comme  un  ane:  "tough  as  an  ass." 
158,  17.  Sent  to  Versailles.  When  this  wolf  was  killed  in 
1787,  Versailles — near  Paris — was  the  residence  of  the  French 
kings.  It  was  natural  that  an  animal  so  much  talked  about 
for  twenty  years  should  be  of  interest  to  the  king  and  his  bril- 
liant court. 

158,  19.  Alexander  Pope  (1688-1744):  the  leading  English 
poet  of  the  eighteenth  century.  No  one  has  succeeded  in  locating 
the  exact  passage  here  quoted.  The  law  of  association  of  ideas 
may  explain  Stevenson's  bringing  together  in  this  passage  Na- 
poleon (the  Little  Corporal),  Pope,  who  was  of  diminutive  size, 
and  the  wolf  of  Gevaudan,  which  turned  out  to  be  very  small. 

158,  21.  M.  Elie  Berthet:  a  French  novelist,  who  wrote 
Bete  dii   Gevaudan   about  the  time  this  book  was  published. 

159,  2.  Caryatides:  columns  in  the  form  of  sculptured  female 
figures;  used  to  support  the  cornices  of  Greek  buildings. 

159,  17.  D'ou'st  que  vous  venez?  "Where  did  you  come 
from?  " 

164,  17.  Chains  and  reverences.  Chains  are  figures  in  a 
dance  where  dancers  going  in  opposite  directions  take  each 
other's  right  and  left  hands,  alternately;  reverences  here  means 
bows. — Abbott. 

164,  20.  Herbert  Spencer  (1820-1903)  :  a  celebrated  English 
philosopher,  founder  of  the  system  named  by  himself  the  synthetic 
philosophy.  At  one  time  he  had  a  very  important  influence  on 
Stevenson.  The  point  here  is  that  one  who  knew  the  scientific 
point  of  view  of  Spencer  would  scarcely  be  affected  by  any- 
thing "  eerie  "  or  fantastic. 

166,  26.  A  little  farther  lend  thy  guiding  hand:  an  allusion 
to  the  first  two  lines  of  Milton's  Samson  Agonistes: 
"A  little  onward  lend  thy  guiding  hand, 
To  these  dark  steps  a  little  on." 


284  Notes  and  Comment 

167,  16.  C'est  que,  voyez-vous,  il  fait  noir.  "It  is  dark, 
you   see." 

167,  19.  Mais — c'est — de  la  peine.  "  But — that  is — some 
trouble." 

167,  23.  Ce  n'est  pas  ga.     "  That's  not  it." 

167,  33-4.  C'est  vrai  .  .  .  vous.  "That's  true;  yes,  it's  true. 
And  where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

168,  13.  Farceuse:  "  a  roguish  jester,"  "  a  tease." 

169,  2.  Filia  barbara  pater  barbarior:  "  a  barbarous  daugh- 
ter,  a  more  barbarous  father." 

170,  16.  Bambino:  the  Italian  word  for  baby;  more  specifi- 
cally, an  image  of  the  child  Jesus. 

170,  20.  Neat  brandy:  clear,  undiluted  brandy. 

171,  32.  Peyrat's  Pastors  of  the  Desert:  a  history  of  the 
Protestant  movement  in  France  from  the  Revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Nantes  (1685)  to  the  French  Revolution  (1789).  The 
use  made  by  Stevenson  of  this  volume  may  be  seen  in  the 
chapters  on  the  Camisards. 

172,  6.  Ulysses,  left  on  Ithaca.  Ulysses,  after  the  Trojan 
War  and  after  ten  years  of  wandering,  returns  to  Ithaca  under 
the  guidance  of  the  goddess  Athena,  who  at  first  puts  a  mist 
around  him  so   that   he   does   not  know   where  he  is. 

172,  30.  The  day  was  tiptoe  on  the  threshold  of  the  east. 
Stevenson  may  have  had  in  mind  Shakespeare's  lines  in  Romeo 
and   Juliet: 

"  Night's  candles  are  burnt  out  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tip-toe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops." 
174,  4.  Lady  of  all  Graces:  the  Virgin  Mary. 
174,  16.  Balquidder  and   Dunrossness:   remote   Scotch  vil- 
lages. 

176,  13.  iEsop:  the  generally  accepted  author  of  the  most 
famous  collection  of  Greek  fables.  Cross  points  out  the  fact 
that  Stevenson  had  in  mind  one  of  La  Fontaine's  fables — "  The 
Miller,  his  Son,   and  the  Ass." 

177,  16.  Fifty  quintals.     A  quintal  is  about  220  pounds. 

178,  4.  Deal.     The  name  is  applied  to  boards  of  pine  or  fir. 

180.  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  This  monastery,  which  re- 
ceives its  name  from  its  location  in  the  snow-covered  mountains, 
appealed  strongly  to  Stevenson  as  representative  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  faith.  In  his  poem  entitled  "  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows," 
he  criticises  the  aloofness  of  the  monks  from  the  noble  war  of 


Notes  and  Comment  285 

mankind,  and  suggests  that  God  may,  in  His  search  for  those 
who  have  sown  gladness  on  the  peopled  lands,  pass  by  "the 
unsought  volunteers  of  death."  In  one  of  his  letters  he  says: 
"  My  sympathies  flow  never  with  so  much  difficulty  as  towards 
Catholic  virtues  " ;  and  yet  one  of  the  strongest  pieces  of  prose  he 
ever  wrote  was  in  defense  of  Father  Damien's  leper  colony  near 
Honolulu. 

180,  Matthew  Arnold  (1822-1888)  :  an  English  poet  and 
critic.  The  poem  quoted  from  is  "  Stanzas  from  the  Grande 
Chartreuse" — a  description  and  interpretation  of  one  of  the  most 
famous  monasteries  of  France,  situated  like  "  Our  Lady  of  the 
Snows"  in  the  high  mountains    (the  Alps). 

181,  25.  Languedocian  Wordsworth.  The  most  famous 
poets  of  Mediaeval  France  lived  in  Languedoc,  formerly  an  inde- 
pendent kingdom  in  what  is  now  Southern  France.  William 
Wordsworth  (1770-1850)  was  an  English  poet  who  loved  so 
much  the  solitude  of  the  lake  district  of  Northern  England 
that  he  resented  the  introduction  of  railroads  into  that  section. 
Stevenson  alludes  to  a  sonnet  written  by  the  poet  in  1844,  having 
as  its  first  line,  "  Proud  were  ye  mountains  when  in  times  of 
old."     Stevenson  had   in  mind  the  two  lines: 

"Heard  ye  that  whistle?     As  her   long-linked  train 
Swept  onward,  did  the  vision  cross  your  view?" 

182,  24.  Sheets  of  characters.  Stevenson  when  a  boy  used 
to  purchase  from  an  Edinburgh  bookseller  pictures  to  represent 
the  actors  in  plays  which  he  performed  at  his  toy  theater.  See 
his  essay  in  Memories  and  Portraits  entitled  "  A  Penny  Plain 
and  Two-pence  Colored." 

183,  16.  Marco  Sadeler:  a  Dutch  engraver. 

184,  21.  Dr.  Pusey.  Edward  Bouverie  Pusey  (1800-1882) 
was  an  English  theologian  who,  along  with  Newman  and  Keble, 
sought  to  introduce  more  ritualism  and  some  of  the  practices  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  into  the  Church  of  England.  1  hey 
thought  that  the  only  refuge  from  the  growing  liberalism  of  the 
age  was  to  be  found  in  magnifying  Church  creeds  and  rites. 
Newman  finally  went  over  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  and 
the  monk  here  prays  that  Pusey  may  do   likewise. 

185,  22.  Father  Hospitaler:  one  who,  in  addition  to  his  care 
of  the  sick  and  the  poor,   looked   after  the  guests  and   pilgrims. 

187,  10.  MM.  les  retraitants:  men  who  have  retired  from 
active    life   to   seels   repose    and   to    enjoy  religious   meditation. 


286  Notes  and  Comment 

They  do  not  take  the  vow.  The  ones  in  this  monastery  are 
described    in    the    following   chapter. 

187,  12.  Imitation.  The  exact  title  is  De  Imitatione  Christi 
("The  Imitation  of  Christ"),  one  of  the  most  popular  devo- 
tional books  of  the  world;  generally  ascribed  to  Thomas  a 
Kempis,    a    German   mystic   of   the   fifteenth   century. 

187,  13.  Elizabeth  Seton  (1774-1821):  founder  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  Order  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  of  which  she 
•was  the   first   Mother   Superior. 

187,  17.  Cotton  Mather  (1663-1728)  :  one  of  the  most  zealous 
and  scholarly  of  the  early  New  England  preachers,  especially 
known  for  his  Ecclesiastical  History  of  Neic  England  and  for 
his  persecutions  of  the  witches.  He  would  therefore  be  espe- 
cially shocked  at  the  introduction  of  Roman  Catholicism  into 
New  England. 

187,  26.  Le  temps  libre  .  .  .  resolutions.  "  One's  leisure 
is  used  in  the  examination  of  conscience,  in  confession,  and  in 
making  good  resolutions." 

188,  14.  Breviaries:  books  containing  the  daily  offices 
(prayers),  which  all  who  are  in  major  orders  are  bound  to 
read. 

188,  14.  Waverley  novels.  Of  this  series  of  novels  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott  Quentin  Durivard  would  naturally  be  appropriate 
for  this  particular  place,  for   its  scene   is   laid   in   France. 

188,  21.  Veuillot:  Louis  Veuillot  (1813-1883),  a  French 
journalist  and  author  who  vigorously  supported  the  cause  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  Second 
Empire. 

188,  21.  Chateaubriand:  Francois  Rene  Auguste,  Vicomte  de 
Chateaubriand  (1768-1848).  He  was  especially  dear  to  all 
Catholics  because,  after  the  anarchy  of  the  French  Revolution, 
he  set  forth  in  the  most  eloquent  prose  the  glory  of  the  Catholic 
Church  in  his  Spirit  of  Christianity,  and  told  the  stories  of  the 
martyrs  in  a  book  by  that  name.  It  was  largely  through  his 
writings  that  Catholicism  became  the  religion  of  the  Empire 
under    Napoleon. 

188,  21.  Odes  et  Ballades:  the  first  volume  of  poems  pub- 
lished by  Victor  Hugo  (1802-1885),  when  he  was  a  Catholic 
and  monarchist.  His  later  books  would  scarcely  find  a  place 
in  a  Catholic  library  because  of  their  bitter  attacks  on  the 
Church. 


Notes  and  Comment  2 By 

188,  22.  Moliere.     See  note  to  Inland  Voyage,  p.  40. 

188,  23.  Fathers:  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  such  as  Saint 
Augustine. 

189,  24.  Carafe:  decanter. 

190,  28.  Phalansteries:  buildings  occupied  as  dwellings  by  a 
community  living  together;  the  term  used  originally  of  com- 
munistic societies  is  here  used  in  a  more  general  sense.  Steven- 
son refers  to  the  communities  of  artists  at  Fontainebleau. 

190,  30.  Cistercian  rule.  The  Cistercian  order  of  monks  led 
a  contemplative  and  very  ascetic  life,  forming  a  sort  of  re- 
ligious republic.  Silence  and  the  exclusion  of  women  were  two 
of  their  rules.  Stevenson  has  here  a  sly  allusion  to  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  Fontainebleau  "  phalanstery  "  by  the  coming  in  of 
his  future  wife  whose  "  sweet  eyes  and  caressing  accent "  al- 
lured him  from  his  Bohemian  life. 

191,  14.  Chapter-room:  the  room  where  the  monks  transact 
the  business  of  the  order. 

191,  14.  Refectory:    the  dining  hall. 

192,  16.  Compline  and  Salve  Regina.  The  Compline  is 
the  last  service  of  the  day,  coming  just  after  the  Vespers.  The 
Salve  Regina  ("Hail,  Queen  of  Compassion")  is  a  hymn  to 
the  Virgin  Mary,  sung  at  certain  times  of  the  year  after  the 
Compline. 

193,  10.  Que  t'as  de  belles  fiUes,  etc. 

"  How  many  pretty  girls  you  have, 
Girofle!   Girofla! 
How  many  pretty  girls  you  have. 
Love  will  take  count  of  them." 
This  is  an  old  French  song,  which  Stevenson  had  doubtless  heard 
sung  by  French  children.     Girofle   is  the   French   name  for  the 
gilliflower.    There  is  also  a  light  opera  founded  on  the  old  song, 
in  which   Girofle   and    Girofla   are   twin   sisters. 

195,  4.  Red  ribbon  of  a  decoration:  the  badge  of  the  Legion 
of    Honor. 

195,  17.  Nick  of  life.  Compare  the  expression  "  nick  of 
time." 

195,  34.  Gambetta's  moderation.  Leon  Gambetta  (1838- 
1882)  was  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  formation  of  the  third 
Republic  after  the  downfall  of  the  Empire  in  1870.  He  was 
a  moderate  as  compared  with  the  Radical  Socialists  and  Com- 
munists, but  to  the  Catholics  he  was  an  opponent  of  the  union 


288  Notes  and  Comment 

of  church   and   state.      The  prejudice   against  him  was  all  the 
greater  because  of  Jewish  blood  in  his  veins. 
196,  4.  Comment,  monsieur?     "How,  sir?" 

196,  27.  Et  vous  pretendez,  etc.  "  And  you  mean  to  die  in 
that   kind   of   faith?" 

197,  8.  My  father's  face.  See  Introduction  for  the  rigorous 
faith  of  his  father. 

197,  9.  Gaetulian  lion.  The  expression  Gatulus  leo  occurs  in 
Horace's  Odes    (I,  xxiii,  10). 

198,  15-16.  C'est  mon  conseil,  etc.  "That  is  my  advice  as 
an  old  soldier,  and  this  gentleman's  as  a  priest." 

198,  21.  Grig:   cricket   or   grasshopper. 

198,  30.  Indian  critic:  an  English  writer  in  India. 

198,  30.  Faddling  hedonist:  trifling  pleasure-seeker. 

199,  25.  La  parole  est  a  vous.  "  That's  your  word  (judg- 
ment)." 

201.  Old  play.  This  quotation  is  found  in  Stevenson's  volume 
of  poems.  He  follows  Scott  in  writing  a  motto  for  his  chapter 
and  in  ascribing  it  to  an  old  dramatist,  probably  to  give  thereby 
an   antique   flavor. 

203,  24.  He,  bourgeois;  il  est  cinq  heures!  "Hey,  citizen; 
it  is  five  o'clock!  " 

204,  30.  Bourree:   a  country  dance. 

205,  II.  Feyness:  a  superstitious  presentiment  of  an  impend- 
ing doom. 

207,  10.  In  a  more  sacred,  etc.  As  was  often  the  case, 
Stevenson  quotes  inaccurately;  the  passage  is  from  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  lines  705-708. 

208,  18.  Arcana:  mysteries. 

208,  23.  Montaigne  (1533-1592):  the  greatest  of  French  es- 
sayists, referred  to  many  times  in  Stevenson's  essays  as  one  of 
his  favorite  authors,  and  particularly  as  one  whom  he  "  aped  " 
when  he  was  trying  to  learn  how  to  write.  Cross  cites  Mon- 
taigne's essay  on  "  Experience  "  for  Stevenson's  remark  on  sleep. 

208,  28.  Bastille.  The  Bastille  in  the  days  before  the  French 
Revolution  was  the  state  prison  of  France  and  therefore  the 
symbol  of  despotism. 

210,  4.  To  live  out  of  doors  with  the  woman  a  man  loves. 
This  is  one  of  several  love  passages  in  the  book.  Strangely 
enough,  just  two  years  later,  Stevenson  was  to  have  this  wish  ful- 
filled in  the  mining-camp  in  California. 


Notes  and  Comment  289 

213.  Camisards:  a  name  given  to  the  French  Protestants  of 
the  Cevennes,  who  took  up  arms  in  defense  of  their  civil  and 
religious  liberty  early  in  the  eighteenth  century.  They  were  so 
called  from  the  white  blouses  worn  by  the  peasants  who  were 
the  chief  actors  in  the  insurrection.  The  succeeding  chapters 
suggest  some  of  the  most  prominent  leaders  and  incidents  in  the 
war,  which  lasted  from  July,  1702,  to  December,  1705. 

213,  9.  W.  P.  Bannatyne:  an  assumed  name  for  Stevenson 
himself. 

216,  6.  Like  stout  Cortez,  etc.:  a  quotation  from  Keats's  son- 
net "  On   First  Looking  into   Chapman's   Homer." 

216,  33.  The  Grand  Monarch:  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who 
ruled   France    during   the    persecution    referred   to   here    (1638- 

1715)- 

217,  14.  Roland.  Stevenson's  references  to  him  and  other 
leaders  on  both  sides  give  sufficient  information. 

217,  18.  Cavalier.  Jean  Cavalier  (1680-1740).  He  was  not 
only  one  of  the  heroes  of  this  revolt;  but,  as  Stevenson  suggests, 
he  spent  the  latter  part  of  his  life  in  English  territory,  not  only 
as  governor  of  the  Isle  of  Jersey  but  as  a  participant  in  the 
wars  with  Spain.  Stevenson  at  one  time  planned  a  poem  on 
him,  and  a  longer  study  of  the  Camisards,  of  which  Cavalier 
was  to  be  the  principal  character.  He  v/rote  to  his  friend  Ed- 
mund Gosse  asking  him  for  material:  "I  have  splendid  ma- 
terial for  Cavalier  till  he  comes  to  my  country;  and  there, 
though  he  continues  to  advance  in  the  service,  he  becomes  en- 
tirely invisible  to  me."  Though  he  never  carried  out  his  plan 
of  writing  a  history,  his  biographer  tells  us  that  he  left  some 
poems  on  Cavalier. 

218,  16.  Florentin:  a  Roman  Catholic  brigand;  so  called 
from  St.  Florent,  a  small  town  on  the  river  Cher,  where  the 
Florentins  were  organized. 

221,  5-6.  Carlisle  .  .  .  Dumfries.  The  first  is  in  England, 
the  other  just  across  the  line  in  Scotland.  See  Stevenson's  essay 
on  "The  Foreigner  at  Home"  in  Memories  and  Portraits  for 
some  comparisons  between  English  and  Scotch  traits. 

222,  26.  Patet   dea:    "  the  goddess  appears." 

223,  3.  Archbishop  Sharpe.  James  Sharpe  (1613-1679),  Arch- 
bishop of  St.  Andrews,  was  murdered  by  the  Covenanters  of 
Scotland,  because  he  had  deserted  the  cause  of  Scotch  Presby- 
terianism   and   had   set   up   the   Episcopal    system   of    religion. 


290  Notes  and  Comment 

Scott's   novel    Old   Mortality    graphically   tells    the    story   of   his 
murder   and  of  the   results  that  followed. 

223,  13.  Marshal  Villars  (1653-1732).  As  Marshal  of 
France,  he  finall\-  suppressed  the  rebellion. 

224,  8.  Pariah:  a  social  outcast. 

225,  19.  Vine:   vine-stocks. 

225,  20.  Scavenger's  Daughter:  an  instrument  of  torture  in- 
vented in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth ;  it  compressed  the  body 
into  a  ball,  sometimes  so  as  to  cause  blood  to  exude. 

225,  27.  Baal:  the  chief  god  of  the  Canaanites,  often  wor- 
shiped by  the  Israelites.  To  the  Protestants  the  worship  of 
images  in  the  Catholic  churches  was  no  better  than  that  of 
Baal. 

•226,  33.  Captain  Poul:  a  daring  soldier  who  had  fought  in 
Germany  and  Hungary  and  in  the  Alps. 

228,  6.  Killiecrankie:  a  pass  in  the  Scotch  Highlands,  where 
Claverhouse,  one  of  the  most  popular  of  Scottish  heroes,  fell. 

231,  I.  Antony  Watteau  (1684-1721):  a  French  painter,  who 
was  especially  noted  for  his  representation  of  shepherd  life, 
rustic  dances,   and  rural  festivals. 

232,  30.  C'est   bien.     "  That's   good." 

234,  7.  Connaissez-vous  le  Seigneur?  "Do  you  know  the 
Lord  ?  " 

234,  25.  Moravians:  members  of  the  Christian  denomination 
which  traces  its  origin  to  John  Huss,  the  earliest  of  all  the 
Reformation  leaders.  From  their  original  home  in  Bohemia  and 
Moravia  they  have  scattered  to  Great  Britain,  Germany,  and 
the  United  States. 

234,  27.  Derbists:  a  religious  sect  founded  in  conjunction 
with  others  by  John  Nelson  Derby  (1800-1882),  a  clergyman  of 
the  Church  of  England.  One  of  their  first  meeting-houses  was 
at  Plymouth,  England,  which  became  the  center  of  a  movement 
which  spread  rapidly  through  England  and  afterward  through 
Switzerland  and  southern  France.  "  The  PK'mouth  Brethren," 
as  they  were  called,  rejected  all  ecclesiastical  forms  and  denomi- 
national distinctions,  aiming  at  one  universal  Christian  brother- 
hood.— Cross. 

235,  24.  Christian  and  Faithful:  another  allusion  to  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  and  especially  to  the  sentence  in  the  eleventh 
chapter:  "They  went  very  lovingly  together,  and  had  sweet  dis-. 
course  of  all  that  happened  to  them  in  their  pilgrimage." 


1 


Notes  and  Comment  291 

236,  34.  Byron  (1788-1824).  Stevenson  may  have  had  in 
mind  either  the  third  canto  of  Cliilde  Harold  with  its  descrip- 
tions of  the  Alps  or  some  of  his  wilder  Eastern  tales. 

238,  2.  Subprefecture:  subdivision  of  a  department  of  France. 

238,  17.  Mauchline,  etc.  The  towns  mentioned  here  and  a 
few  lines  below  are  all  in  the  southwestern  part  of  Scotland 
and  are  associated  with  the  struggles  and  persecutions  of  the 
Covenanters.  One  thinks  inevitably  of  Scott's  Old  Mortality, 
the  hero  of  which  wandered  here  and  there  seeking  for  the  neg- 
lected  graves   and   monuments   of   the  forgotten   worthies. 

238,  26.  Prophet  Peden:  Alexander  Peden  (died  in  i686), 
one  of  the  most  zealous  of  the  Covenanting  preachers,  noted 
especially  for  the  devotion  that  he  inspired  among  the  peasants 
and  for  his  remarkable  escapes  from  his  persecutors.  Stevenson 
in  one  of  his  last  letters  said:  "When  I  was  a  child,  and  in- 
deed until  I  was  nearly  a  man,  I  consistently  read  Covenanting 
books.  Now  that  I  am  a  gray-beard  ...  I  have  returned, 
and  for  weeks  back  have  read  little  else.  ...  Of  course  this 
is  with  the  idea  of  a  novel,  but  in  the  course  of  it  I  made  a 
very  curious  discovery.  .  .  .  My  style  is  from  the  Covenanting 
writers."  See  the  Introduction  for  the  influence  of  his  faithful 
nurse,  who  first  recited  to  him  these  exciting  stories. 

239f  27.  Catholic  cadet  of  the  White  Cross:  so  called  from 
a  white  cross  sewed  on  the  hat.  The  ferocious  band  was  organ- 
ized by  a  hermit.  The  members  were  sometimes  known  as  the 
White  Camisards,  in  distinction  from  the  Black  Camisards,  an- 
other band  of  robbers  led  by  a  butcher.  The  Miquelet  was  a 
name  applied  to  other  bandits  countenanced  by  the  king  of 
France;  so  called  from  a  band  of  robbers  in  the  Pyrenees  under 
the  leadership  of  Miquelet. — Cross. 

240,  20.  Dissenter:  one  who  refuses  to  conform  to  the  estab- 
lished church;  used  more  specifically  of  those  in  England  who 
do  not  belong  to  the  Church  of  England. 

242,  22.  A  la  belle  etoile:  "under  the  open  sky." 

243,  3.  The  barking  of  a  dog.  These  remarks  suggest  the 
author's  essay  on  the  "  Character  of  Dogs "  in  Memories  and 
Portraits. 

247,  25.  Naaman  in  the  house  of  Rimmon.  See  2  Kings, 
V,  18. 

247,  26.  Louis  XVI:  the  ill-fated  King  of  France  at  the  time 
of  the  French  Revolution. 


292  Notes  and  Comment 

248,  25.  Bruce  and  Wallace.  While  Robert  Bruce  (1274- 
1329)  and  William  Wallace  (i274?-i305)  resisted  with  all  their 
might  the  invasion  of  Scotland  by  the  English,  they  yet,  by  in- 
spiring their  countrymen  with  high  ideals  of  national  inde- 
pendence and  courage,  paved  the  way  for  a  more  substantial 
union  of  the  two  people  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

249,  10.  Cependant,  coucher  dehors!  "Still,  to  sleep  out- 
doors! " 

250,  5.  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel  (1650-1707):  an  English  ad- 
miral, who  at  the  time  referred  to  was  commander  of  a  fleet  in 
the  Mediterranean.  The  English,  who  at  the  time  were  ene- 
mies of  France,  naturally  sided  with  the  Camisards. 

250,  10.  Julien:  a  soldier  of  fortune  sent  by  the  French  gov- 
ernment into  the  district  to  lay  it  waste  and  to  slaughter  the 
people. 

251,  27.  The  voice  of  a  woman.  Compare  Wordsworth  in 
"The  Solitary  Reaper": 

"  Perhaps  the   plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old   unhappy,  far-off  things. 
And   battles   long   ago." 

251,  32.  Pippa  in  the  poem:  a  reference  to  Robert  Brown- 
ing's well-known  poem,  Pippa  Passes,  in  which  Pippa,  who  works 
in  a  silk-mill,  spends  her  one  holiday  of  the  year  in  singing 
joj^ful  songs  as  she  passes  through  the  streets. 

252,  2.  Distant  and  strange  lands.  Of  what  incident  in 
Stevenson's  own  life  are  these  lines  prophetic? 

257,  27.  Phylloxera:  an  insect  which  is  the  worst  enemy  of 
grape-vines. 

261,  5-6.  Oui  .  .  .  nord!  "Yes,  it  is  like  that.  Just  as  in 
the  North !  " 

261,  14.  And,  O,  the  difference  to  me:  the  conclusion  of 
Wordsworth's  poem  "  She  Dwelt  Among  the  Untrodden  Ways." 


Questions  and  Topics  for  Discussion 

J.  How  much  time  elapsed  between  the  two  journeys  and 
what  were  the  most  important  incidents  in  Stevenson's  life  in 
the  meantime?  2.  Why  did  he  go  alone  the  second  time?  3. 
What  similarities  and  contrasts  can  you  draw  between  the  two 
books — as  to   scenery,  types  of  men   and  women,  views  of  life, 


1 

1 


Notes  and  Comment  293 

style,  etc.?  4.  With  the  aid  of  the  map  and  with  the  author's 
dates  make  up  a  general  plan  of  the  journey  day  by  day.  5. 
Cite  some  of  the  most  important  descriptive  passages,  indicating 
thereby  some  of  the  aspects  of  the  mountains  through  which 
Stevenson  passed.  6.  Write  a  short  account  of  Modestine  and  the 
part  she  plays  in  the  story.  To  what  extent  does  she  serve  as  a 
companion  for  her  master?  Give  illustrations  of  the  author's 
humor  and  sentiment  in  writing  of  her.  7.  What  does  Steven- 
son take  with  him  in  the  way  of  dress,  food,  drink,  and  books? 
8.  What  are  the  most  striking  adventures  of  the  journe\?  9. 
Give  in  your  own  words  a  summary  of  the  two  chapfffs  "  A 
Camp  in  the  Dark  "  and  "  A  Night  Among  the  Pines."  10.  Give 
a  description  of  the  monastery,  Our  Lady  of  the  Snows — its  loca- 
tion, its  rules  of  conduct,  the  various  types  of  monks  and  board- 
ers, the  library  and  other  rooms,  the  conversations  that  take 
place,  and  Stevenson's  general  reflections  on  religion  and  life. 
II.  Give  a  description  of  the  country  of  the  Camisards  and  an 
account  of  the  main  incidents  and  leaders  in  the  war  waged 
between  Catholics  and  Protestants.  12.  Why  was  Stevenson 
more  in  sympathy  with  the  Protestants  than  with  the  Catholics? 
13.  What  parallels  does  he  draw  between  the  Protestants  in  this 
war  and  the  Covenanters  of  Scotland?  14.  What  passages  can 
you  cite  to  show  his  tolerance  in  religion  and  his  sense  of 
humor  at  seeing  the  way  in  which  different  sects  pelt  each  other 
with  evangelists  and  tracts?  15.  Give  an  account  of  his  meeting 
with  the  Plymouth  Brother  and  with  other  types  not  hitherto 
mentioned,  such  as  Clarisse  and  the  inhospitable  peasants.  16. 
In  one  of  his  letters  Stevenson  says  that  a  good  deal  of  this 
volume  is  "mere  protestation  to  Fanny"  (later  to  be  his  wife)  ; 
what  passages  can  you  cite  to  give  illustrations  of  the  truth  of 
this  remark?  17.  Cite  some  of  the  most  lyrical  descriptions  of 
nature.  18.  Answer  the  questions  14-18  as  given  in  "Questions 
and  Topics  for  Discussion  "  on  the  Inland  Voyage. 


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